Stories of Fire&Ice
by purinsesu-sereniti
Summary: a collection of short stories/fics/scene rewrites from game of thrones. heavy jonsa.
1. Chapter 1

She was numb.

Her whole body had lost its feeling long ago- and not just from the cold. Though Brienne had tried to light the warmth back inside of her, Sansa was fearful it would never again return. Though she clutched the furlined cloak close to her shoulders, the chill of the wintry air bit at her cheeks, her neck. Though she had long since dried off, she could still feel the sting of the ice cold water of the river she had crossed. Though her fears were left behind her, she could still feel the ghosts of his hands moving across her body...

"Lady Sansa?"

She jumped, the sound of Brienne's voice breaking into her wandering mind. Sansa turned her head, peering across at the woman who had sworn to protect her. "We're just about there." Brienne raised a hand, pointing out at the top of a gate she could just see overhead the trees ahead of them. "Come." She kicked her horse back into movement and Sansa did the same, following after Brienne, lapsing back into the silence she'd grown so accustomed to.

It was hard to imagine that after all this time she was finally going to be reunited with Jon, with her brother. In the time that had passed since she'd last seen him, in the time since everything bad had begun to happen, she had thought of her relationship with Jon. She had never treated him as he had deserved and she of course regretted that now. After everything that had happened, she had a different outlook on her life, on her ideals, on her family. And now, potentially Jon was the only one left besides her. They needed each other. She needed him. And she needed his forgiveness.

"Open the gates!" A man was calling out overhead as she and Brienne approached the gate, she feeling increasingly more sick to her stomach. She could not believe this moment was finally here. But now that it was... Why did she feel like running? "Who are you?" Another man spoke as the gate opened, revealing to them the inner workings of Castle Black, the home of the Night's Watch. The man was looking from Brienne to Sansa, the latter looking as if she'd fall off her horse at any given moment.

"This is Lady Sansa Stark, we come seeking her brother, The Lord Commander Jon Snow." Brienne's tenor vocals rang out and the man blinked, before stepping back, allowing the two women on horseback to pass through the gates. They rode into the center of the courtyard, while most of the Night's men went on with their tasks- though some did have to stop and do a double take, as the presence of a woman within their walls was nearly unheard of. But to have two of them? Now _that_ was unheard of.

Sansa drew her horse to a stop behind Brienne, slipping herself down, giving herself a moment to take in her surroundings. It reminded her of home, in a strange sort of way. It reminded her of Jon. As she turned back around, she suddenly caught sight of him, there on the stairwell with men on his either side. There was only a split second before he noticed her, standing there beside her horse. He stared back at her, as if he wasn't certain of what he was seeing, as if he had seen a ghost. And then... Then he was on the move.

Jon could not believe his eyes.

There she stood, in his own courtyard, looking pale and frightened. Even from such a distance, he could see the faded bruises on her face, could see the tension of her limbs beneath her cloak. What had happened to his sister? He nearly stumbled in his rush to reach her, rushing down the stairs to stand before her, drinking in the sight of her lovely face. How much time had passed? He could not believe that this young woman was Sansa, his own sister. But this was not the sister he recalled so well from childhood; this was a woman tainted by something unseen, this was a woman broken by the hands of men. He felt something rush through him, a twist of red hot anger and icy cold despair. Oh, just what had they done to her?

But then again, it didn't matter much, because now she was there and he could protect her from whatever was to come.

Jon took a single step forward just as she came rushing into his arms, throwing herself at him while from her lips fell his whispered name. He embraced her so that he swept her off her feet, the chill of her body against his own drawing only more concern. "Sansa..." He murmured, his voice muffled against the crown of her head, gentling his grasp on her when he felt her tremble. As he settled her back onto her feet, he cupped her cheeks between his palms, gazing into her beautiful blue eyes that had filled with tears. His own were damp, threatening to spill over, and he closed them a moment. When he opened them again, she was still yet there and her lips had begun to curve into the smallest of smiles. He recalled then a moment from their childhood, when she had woven daisy crowns into her hair and called herself Queen Sansa, when her smile had been as radiant as the sun. Now, her smile was half-hearted, as if she'd forgotten what it was like to be happy. He made a silent vow, right then and there, to break whoever had broken her. A silent vow to bring back the smile he remembered so well.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking into Jon's eyes, she knew she was safe. She knew that she could speak freely about the trauma she had suffered, about the horrors she had witnessed. There would be no judgment against the things she had done as a frightened child, there would only be understanding. There would be no malice against her, the child of Ned Stark, the child that had sought his survival but been given his head on a spike. A shudder raced through her, as it always did when she thought back to that awful moment... The moment where she watched her father's head get cut off. Right before her own eyes, she watched his head come off, she watched as it bounced across the stage... And that was it.

But it was enough.

"Sansa..." Jon's soft voice brought her back and she turned to look into his face, his dark brown eyes drawing her in. "You don't have to..." He murmured, knowing that her pain was evident, and perhaps speaking of it was not in her best interest. But, Sansa knew she needed to speak, she needed to tell someone of all she had seen. She felt the warm touch of Jon's hand as he took her own in his grasp and she fixed her blue eyes upon him, knowing there was nothing more she needed to do than this.

And so she opened her mouth, her words weaving images for Jon of things no one should ever have to witness, of things no person should ever have to endure. From the beheading of their father, to her abuse at the hands of Joffrey. Jon felt a tremor of rage rush through him as he thought of her back then, so young, with a face full of bruises and a heart full of pain. Her words spoke volumes to her growth, to her change from a child to a woman. Jon kept his hand tightly around hers as he listened to her speak, telling him every thought that had ever crossed her mind- from the blame she put on herself for their father's death, to the shame she felt for doing what she had done to survive.

But nothing could prepare him for what she told him next.

"He did whatever he pleased with me, but was careful of my face. He needed my face." She spoke strongly, ignoring Jon's soft intake of breath at the words. "It started the first night, when he made Theon watch." Her words grew softer, her hand trembling in Jon's grasp. "He raped me, Jon. He beat me, he killed a whore in front of me. Everyone there was on his side, no one but Theon was a friend to me." She could recall every single instance from her time beside Ramsay- from the moment she had first felt his hands upon her, to the first time he'd drawn her blood. She would never forget the terrible things that she had endured by his hands, how could she?

Jon felt the anger surging through him as Sansa spoke, the feeling so strong he had to pull away his hand in fear of squeezing hers too tightly. "I'm sorry, Sansa..." He muttered, shaking his head, despair instead taking root within him. Bastard or not, this was his sister and he was supposed to protect her. He was the eldest surviving son, except for maybe Bran, wherever he was, and it was his duty to protect his family. But he had failed. It was then that he felt her small, warm hand slip into his own, giving it a tender squeeze. He looked up, meeting her brilliant blue eyes, and watched as a small smile transformed her weary features. "I should have been there..."

"You can't blame yourself, there's no one to blame but those who've done this to me." She said softly, steering him away from a spiral of despair and self doubt. Joffrey was already taken care of, but there were others of course. "I don't want this to happen to anyone else, Jon." She looked into his eyes, so he could see the truth reflected there in their depths, so he knew what she truly meant. Of course he understood, he'd have Ramsay's head before the day was done, if he could.

But now was not the moment for revenge, now was the moment for taking care of Sansa. He rose up from his chair, slipping his hand from hers to walk across the room, spooning out the soup that had been warming over the fire. Returning to her side, he handed her the bowl, encouraging her softly to eat. As he dropped back into his own chair, he took the moment to more closely inspect her- the faded bruise on her cheek, the thinness of her frame beneath the mountain of blankets she was wrapped in... How she trembled, ever so slightly, at the touch of his own hand. Or how she jumped at every little noise, her blue eyes seeking the source of her fright. Jon knew she thought of Ramsay with every jump, knew that the only thing she feared was going back to him. But he would never allow that.

"Good soup," she murmured with a smile, interrupting his thoughts, bringing a smile of his own to his features. "So, where will you go now?"

Jon paused a moment, staring back at her as if she'd grown another head. Where would he go next? No where, without her that was. "Where will _we_ go next." He corrected her, watching as her face lit up. She sat up a little bit straighter, setting aside her finished bowl of soup, blue eyes twinkling in the firelight.

"Let's go home, Jon."


	3. Chapter 3

a/n: mature content, triggering content even.

you've been warned.

[ x x x ]

She had calculated every step of her plan.

Sansa supposed that living among the scheming, manipulating Lannisters had taught her to always be one step ahead of her enemies. And while she had put her trust into Jon to win the battle against Ramsay, she had known they would be outnumbered. She had known what the odds were and those odds certainly were not in their favor. And Sansa had promised Jon that she would not go back alive to Ramsay Bolton. One way or another, she would escape him, whether it be through the battle or her own death.

Luckily, the fates had been kind and the battle had been won. But only after she called upon Lord Baelish and his army of soldiers that had ultimately stolen the battle out from under Ramsay. Thanks to her, the battle had been theirs.

"My Lady?"

The voice in her doorway brought her back to the present and she turned, facing Brienne who looked grim. "Did you...?" Sansa inquired as Brienne crossed the threshold of her chamber, allowing the door to swing closed behind her. Brienne nodded and Sansa stood, meeting her in the center of the room, taking a little wrapped package from her hands. "Thank you, Brienne." Sansa whispered, meeting her protector's eyes, unaware of the pain reflected within her own. There had been no one else in the world she could have trusted with this task, the one Brienne had now completed. There was no one else in the world she could have told.

"I still think it's best that you allow a maester to mix it," Brienne began but was silenced with one look from Sansa, who was shaking her head. "It's dangerous. Lethal, if not made right..." Again, Brienne was hushed, this time by a wave of Sansa's hand. Moving towards the fire place, she pulled from it the tin cup heating over the low flame, and set it down upon the mantle. Opening the package, she tipped its various contents into the steaming cup, stirring until the water had turned to a dark brown, looking like a simple tea.

"No one can know." Sansa whispered before she lifted the mug to her lips and took down a swallow. It was bitter, but she'd tasted worse, and so she forced down another sip. "No one can know," she repeated softly, staring into the flames as she finished drinking down the cup of drink, pulling a face as the last of it burned her throat on the way down. There, at least now that was taken care of. "Call my maidens, I'd like to get dressed." She set the cup back down and turned to Brienne, fixing her with her blue-eyed stare. "My warmest dress." Brienne stared back at her young charge before she swallowed and gave a single nod, leaving the room to send for the maids.

It was but an hour later when Sansa found herself approaching the cell where Ramsay was kept. She kept her steps quiet, approaching in near silence that for several moments she could enjoy the sight of him strapped to a chair, unaware of her presence. He was bloody, beaten to a pulp by Jon's own hands, a sight she'd not soon forget. Jon, bloodstained and dirty, as he beat Ramsay's face into the ground, the image sending chills down her spine. Jon had done that for her and she didn't blame him, but when their eyes had met that day, he'd ceased. Almost as if he'd known the truth of her heart, right then and there.

"Ahh... Sansa..."

The chill of his voice caught her attention and she reached out, wrapping her gloved hands around the bars of his cell. "I suppose this is where I am to stay now..." Despite his injuries, his tone still held an ounce of the mockery it always had. "No..." He then went on, shifting on the chair, a groan passing his lips. "Our time together is coming to an end." Sansa said nothing, merely continued to stare at him there in the cell, her face betraying not a single emotion rushing through her. "Not that you can kill me... I am a part of you now."

Sansa felt a chill race through her spine, felt her stomach give a little lurch. "Your words will disappear," she said solemnly, never once allowing her gaze to waver. Her stomach gave another lurch, but still she did not move. "Your house will disappear, your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear." Ramsay did not move, did not even speak as he listened to the words that she spoke. Between the sound of her voice and the wind that howled, he could not hear the growling of the dogs on his either side.

But then he did.

He turned to look to his right, to where the snarling face of one of his dogs had appeared. Then, to his left, another one was approaching. "My hounds will never harm me," his voice was sharp and Sansa let out a little breath, a wane smile toying with her lips.

"You haven't fed them in days, you said so yourself." Sansa retorted, still peering in through the bars, though her face had come much closer. Her blue eyes were staring Ramsay down, who licked his bloody lips and for a moment, actually looked worried.

"They're loyal beasts," he snapped back, though his confidence had begun to wane.

"They were," Sansa replied, her calm demenor feeling cold even to herself. "Now, they're starving." Her words ended but the dogs around Ramsay began to growl a bit louder, enticed by the sweet, coppery scent of blood that clung to their master's body. Sansa watched as the biggest dog approached, climbing up to place its paws on his chest, licking his face, lapping at the blood until suddenly...

Ramsay let out a blood curdling scream as the dog lunged, taking a bite right into the soft flesh of his cheek. The the other dog was there, tearing through his layers of clothes to his upper arm, ripping the flesh from his bone. They were snarling as they devoured their master and Sansa stood stock still, watching as the flesh was flayed from his bones by his own beasts. She stood there in silence until his screaming silenced, until even his breathing ceased. It wasn't until Sansa was positive he was dead that she turned her back to the scene, walking away without a single regret. In truth, she felt almost nothing at all.

She felt nothing but cold, hard redemption.

[ x x x ]

When she woke that night, it was from a sharp, hot pain in her belly.

A little moan left her lips as she kicked back her covers, revealing despite the darkness the bloodstain beneath her. Pain ripped through her again and she threw her head back, trying to keep her voice down as she cried out. But, Brienne was there within moments, having heard her from the very first cry. "My lady," Brienne stood beside the bed, gently sponging her hot forehead, as she writhed on the bed. "Let me get someone." Sansa reached for Brienne's hand, gripping it sharply, pinning her with her intense eyes.

"Just stay with me." Sansa whimpered as another wave of pain rocked her and she focused on what was happening to her body.

It didn't take much longer for the child to pass, though the thing that her body spit out resembled little more than a clump of blood. "Get rid of it," Sansa gasped, rolling away from what would have been Ramsay's child, unable to look at it's feeble little form. Brienne did as she was bid, pulling all of the sheets and blankets away, wrapping the fetus among them. Modesty forgotten, Sansa pulled her bloodied chemise over her head and gave that to Brienne as well, who then stepped in front of the fireplace to dump the bundle onto the coals. It sprung to life again as the bedding took flame, casting the entire room into light.

With that bundle of bedding went all remnants of what had just happened there and for that, Sansa was thankful. Brienne called for a maid only then, explaining to the young woman that appeared that Sansa's courses had come and new bedding an a new chemise would be necessary. Thinking nothing of it, the maid set to work, first bringing Sansa a fine new chemise, which she helped to dress her in, depositing her into the chair before the fireplace while she began to make the bed anew.

Sansa stared into the fire, every memory of her time with Ramsay filtering through her mind. From the way his dark eyes had looked at her, so hungry and menacing. To the way his hands had felt on every inch of her skin, so rough and abrasive. Now, all of those things were just memories. And so was their would be child.

It was just as she had told Ramsay, every piece of him would disappear.


	4. Chapter 4

When Jon thought about it, he wished he had been the one to kill that damned Ramsay Bolton. He'd come close to it of course, maybe a few punches shy of it, but then he'd saw Sansa and something inside of him had broke. The look in her blue eyes had been clear the day and Jon knew he had to let her have it. He had to allow her to rise above the monster that had hurt her, the bastard son that had stolen from her so very much.

And so he'd pulled himself free from Ramsay and called for his men to take him away, to be chained up and left for Sansa to do with as she pleased. He had told her so that same night, before he had retired to his rooms to clean himself up. He had stripped himself of his bloody, disgusting clothes and washed until every inch of him was clean. When the chamberlain had done away with the bloody water and rags, he'd waved away the healing woman at his door, her basket of supplies there in her hands. "Your injuries-" she began, but Jon turned away, pulling back the blankets on his bed. He had offered this room to Sansa, but she'd denied him, saying she would be fine in the smaller quarters just down the hall. It took a moment longer but the woman knew she would not win this argument and rather closed the door behind her as she disappeared down the hall.

Pouring himself a strong mug of ale, he drowned it in one large gulp and slammed the cup back down onto his table. Adrenaline still yet coursed through his veins as images from the battle flashed before his eyes. So very close they had come to losing, he himself close to losing the life he'd had restored. But then, because of Sansa's meddling, they had won. He would be ever thankful for her decision to reach out to Petyr Baelish, even if he didn't trust the man. And though he'd wished that Sansa had spoken to him in regards to her planning, he would not fault her for it; he recalled the words she'd spoken to him weeks ago, when they had first been reunited,that she would die before returning to Bolton. He never would have allowed her to return to that monster, but had she not inteferred, he might truly not have been able to protect her as he'd promised to do.

Climbing into his bed, Jon pulled the covers close to his chest, burying himself beneath the furs as he'd once done as a child. Beneath the covers, even for a few short hours, he was safe and he was warm. There in bed, he could finally rest knowing Ramsay Bolton was in chains in his own prison cell, that he could no longer hurt Sansa or anyone else for that matter. And so Jon closed his eyes and slept, a long dreamless sleep he'd not had in many weeks. Even if but for this one single night, he could rest.

[ x x x ]

What drew him from his slumber the next morning was the sunlight pouring in through his curtains. Cursing beneath his breath, Jon rolled over onto his side and already he could hear the sound of his chamberlain knocking on the door. "My lord," the older man greeted as he entered, ignoring Jon's sound of protest at such a greeting. "Your wounds still yet need tending." The man went on as he approached the bedside, knowing well that his master had needed the sleep he'd gotten that night. How many sleepless nights had Jon Snow had in these last few months? Far too many. "Allow me to call a maester."

As Jon sat up, he gave a single shake of his head, gesturing for the man to throw him the clean pair of breeches draped over a chair. "Call my sister, if you must call someone." Her hands were so much gentler than any of the maesters and if they insisted upon dressing his wounds, then it would be by someone he trusted with his very life.

"I shall call upon her my lord, though it is said she was ill most of last night." The man bowed and headed to the door, hoping to escape before Jon could question him further, knowing it was not his place to tell the man what the servants already whispered of his sister. But then he paused, turning back to look at the man who very well could become their newest King. "My lord, Ramsay Bolton is dead." And then he was gone, allowing the door to fall closed behind him, leaving Jon to his own racing mind. Ramsay... Dead? Then that meant Sansa had done what he had expected of her. Perhaps that explained this illness of hers. Taking a life... No matter how evil of a life it was, it was life changing. Now he had to wonder if he should have shoulder the burden of death for her, regardless of her need for revenge against the man that had hurt her so. Perhaps he should not have allowed her to stain her hands with Ramsay's blood.

So he waited, anxious to see her face in the doorway, heart pounding as he waited to hear her name announced at his door. Several minutes later, Jon had swung his aching legs over the edge of his bed, pulling on the clean breeches moments before the guard at his door announced her arrival. When Sansa came through the door, Jon could not help but to take a moment to drink in the sight of her; pale and drawn, her hair loose about her face and dressed in a dark and somber gown of black. She looked worse than he felt, in truth. "I had wondered how long they'd allow you to remain abed," her attempt at a jest brought a smile to his lips and he rose to his feet. Only then did he realize how very painful his various wounds felt, how tight and aching his body truly was. His knees threatened to give way beneath his weight, but then Sansa was there, steadying him enough so he might cross the room and drop down onto the chair, where she could better attend to his wounds.

It was as she began to tend to a sword cut on his left bicep that he spoke, leaning in as he caught a whiff of her familiar scent. "They said you were ill last night." Sansa drew back then, hands ceasing their movements as her blue eyes found his brown. "Sansa..." She sat back on her hunches, black gown gathered all around her as she sat there on the ground beside his chair, blue eyes widening in her pale features.

"Indeed," she finally responded, careful of the words she used to explain to her brother the reason behind her illness. There was no reason to express to him the truth, or to anyone really. She knew servants would talk, but she would never speak the truth to anyone ever again. Only she and Brienne would ever know what she'd cast away the night before. "It is only my courses, if you must know." She spoke a bit more sharper than intended and returned to her work, winding a bandage around the wound which she'd already covered in a healing salve. When she glanced up a moment later, it was only to find Jon yet still staring at her, a look of sympathy in his eyes that she couldn't stand to see. "That is all." She spoke softly, looking as if she dared him to disagree.

Something unspoken fell between them and then Jon gave a single nod, allowing himself to believe the words that she spoke to him. In silence she finished bandaging his wounds and it was as she rose to her feet that another knock came to his door. Again appeared the chamberlain, who smiled upon the young woman before speaking to his master. "Lord Manderly and the others have arrived, my lord." Beside him, Sansa shifted and then nodded as well, knowing well why the men had come. "I shall tell them you will recieve them shortly." And then he was gone.

"It's time then." Sansa spoke first, turning to her brother with the smallest of smiles. "King in the North." Jon felt a pounding in his heart but gave a small nod, as if to say _if we must._ And then Sansa slipped her arm through his and together, perhaps the last two remaining Stark's, made their way down to stand before the lords of Winterfell, where the next chapter would begin to unfold.


	5. Chapter 5

When he touched her, she felt sick.

It mattered not what sort of touch it was- a chaste kiss before the servants or the hard punch to her abdomen when they were alone in their chamber. All of it sickened her to her very core. Sansa had never once imagined that her life could ever have been worse than it had been in King's Landing with Joffrey... But here, here in Winterfell, her own family home, life was worse than it had ever been. She had watched her father's head get cut from his body, had been forced to view it on a pike, and had been abused by the teenage king and his court for what had felt like an entire lifetime. But none of that could compare to what Ramsay had done to her in their short time together.

On this particular morning she woke alone in her great bed though the memory of the night before still yet clung to her. Shifting, Sansa could not help but to utter a little cry, so painful was her body from all Ramsay had done that night. Pushing the fur coverlet away from her, Sansa stared down at her body beneath her night gown, carefully pulling it up so she might inspect the newest of her injuries. She winced as her fingertips brushed across the newly formed bruise on her left hip, her eyes drifting along the healing bruises across her long, shapely legs. It seemed as if every inch of her was covered in the remnants of an injury. Well every inch of her aside from her face, of course.

A sigh escaped her and Sansa swung her legs over the side of the bed, allowing her nightgown to fall back into place a moment before there came a loud knock upon her chamber door. Without waiting for an answer, the door opened and in came the woman who dressed her every day, an old woman who rarely spoke beyond a morning greeting. Though the woman looked upon her with sympathetic eyes, Sansa dared not ask for her help; Ramsay had frightened nearly everyone in the North into submission. His people had witnessed his brutality to everyone, including his new wife, and so none dared cross him. Not that she could blame them.

"My lady," the old woman, Agatha was her name, said before heading straight across the room to where several of Sansa's gowns hung, reaching for the best of them all. "Lord Bolton has requested your presence at the announcement of his newly born son." The old woman turned back to the young woman on the bed, who's eyes had widened, mouth falling open in slight surprise.

Ramsay had come to her angry the night before, though he'd not spoken of the reasoning, rather he'd taken it out on her. Now, she understood. His fear of being usurped by an infant had come true, if his father's bride truly had birthed a son. Unable to help herself, Sansa smiled as she rose up from the bed, suddenly feeling less pained and much happier than she'd felt in weeks. "Indeed, I should like to honor the birth of my husband's new baby brother."

Perhaps this was the miracle she'd been waiting for.

[ x x x ]

She should have known better.

Before supper that next day, Ramsay had killed them all. His father, his stepmother, as well as his newborn brother were all dead before darkness fell. Ramsay had stabbed his own father and fed the woman and child to his dogs. Of course, no one would say that was what had happened to the Bolton's, but Sansa knew... She knew because Ramsay had boasted of his triumphs that same night when he joined her in her chamber. And now as she lay there in bed beside him, Sansa wondered if this was to be the end for her. Now, Ramsay would be as good as King of the North, and she would never find a way out.

Well, there was always a way out, she supposed, and death seemed much more enticing than her current situation. Sitting up, Sansa carefully slipped from beneath the blankets, pausing only a moment when Ramsay murmured in his sleep. Tugging on her robe, she then drew her cloak on over that and quietly slipped from the room.

Her tired, aching legs manuevered her through the dark and empty corridors and Sansa could not help but to recall her childhood in these walls. The place she'd once called home was now a dark and distant place- a place she once loved, she now abhorred, all because of the man she called husband. He had stolen from her more than her innocence and what little happiness was left within her. No, he'd stolen from her the home she'd loved and tainted Winterfell forevermore. How could she walk these halls and sleep in these chambers without recalling all she'd suffered within them?

It was but a few minutes later that Sansa found herself down in the crypts below Winterfell, standing before the statue of her father. His somber stone face looked down at her and Sansa closed her eyes, shame rushing through her, for how dare she stand before him as she was doing. It was her fault what had happened to him, after all. Tears formed in her eyes though she fought desperately against them and Sansa clenched her hands into fists. "Father, what am I to do?" She whispered miserably into the dark, opening her eyes then to stare up at her father's face. "I am so scared..." She spoke the words aloud she'd not once allowed herself to speak. "Please father, just tell me what I am to do..." Her whispered plea echoed across the crypt as if she'd shouted them and she closed her eyes again, the cold air seeping into her veins despite the warm cloak around her shoulders.

 _Jon..._ The answer came so softly that Sansa could not dare to believe she had heard them. A choked gasp escaped her as she shot her gaze back up, half expecting her father's statue to have come to life. It had been his voice that she had heard, truly... Not just her imagination, truly she had heard him speak! _Jon..._ The single name he spoke that of her half-brother, Jon, who she knew to be the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He would be the only person in the world to help her now. Sansa felt her heart quicken its pace and she clutched her cloak a little bit tighter around herself, knowing she had to return to her chamber before Ramsay woke to find her gone. But now she understood, now she knew her only way out from Ramsay's clutches didn't have to be death.

She would escape from Ramsay and from Winterfell and she'd not set foot back within its walls until it belonged to House Stark yet again.


	6. Chapter 6

His fingertips whispered across her skin, leaving warmth in their wake, something she'd not felt in a lifetime. Jon's eyes were trained upon every injury he inspected, gentling his touch as his hands trailed across her tender bruises, her scabbing cuts, and every other injury that marred her pale flesh. Sansa kept her own eyes glued to a spot on the ceiling, breathing slowly, her heart beat quick within her chest.

Improper as it may have been, Sansa had stripped from her gown and cloak to allow Jon to see the abuse she had suffered. He had not necessarily asked, but intuition told Sansa that he wanted to see for himself what she had been dealt. And part of her wanted him to see- finally, someone to witness her abuse. Finally, someone to see with wide open eyes all that she had been forced through. Unlike those loyal (whether truly loyal or from fear) to Ramsay who had ignored every beating Sansa had suffered, who had blocked their ears to her screams, who had shut their eyes to the bruises when Ramsay had gone too far and lashed out against her face and hands. Now, Jon could catch a glimpse of the horrors she had suffered. Sansa then spared him a single glance and she had to wonder if Jon knew there were tears clinging to his lashes.

Jon's breath caught as he traced the line of a scar on her shoulder and he could not help but to wonder what lay beneath the clothes she still yet wore. And worse than those physical injuries had to be the ones to her heart and soul, the wounds he could never see. Jon could not believe such a fate had happened upon his sister. "Enough," he muttered gruffly, suddenly pulling back from her and turning away as she silently pulled her gown back on, sickened to his very core. When he turned back to face her a moment later, Jon felt his heart skip a beat, felt a warm rushing through his veins. He hated thinking of her in that monster's arms, falling beneath his raised fists. He hated thinking of her, frightened out of her mind, pushed onto a bed by a man who did not love her, but only wanted to hurt her for his own pleasure. "I'm sorry Sansa," he spoke then, his voice breaking as he reached out his hand yet again, this time to gently stroke the petal soft skin of her cheek. Beneath his touch she trembled, tears filling her blue eyes as their gazes met. "I should have protected you." The little sister he had told his father he'd always watch over... He'd let her down. He'd gone off on his own and never thought twice of what was happening to the family he'd loved. And so, when their father had died and then Robb after him, Sansa had no one left to protect her. Bastard or not, he was the next eldest brother, it should have been him. It should have been him to take care of her. Jon's eyes closed as he felt shame flood his face, suddenly unable to look his dear sister in her eyes.

A moment later, her had slid into place over his, small and cold against his, bringing Jon back. His eyes opened and there were hers, so blue that they nearly took his breath away. "You can't blame yourself, Jon." Part of her already knew who had caused all of this, though she would keep such thoughts to herself until the moment was right. One thing she had learned in all her time with the Lannister's was never give up information until it best benefited you. She had practically lived in Cersei's shadow those years before going to Ramsay, Sansa knew how to play her part in the game. "But please..." She trailed off, his hand sliding down her cheek, though he drew it towards him, hesitant to let her go. "Don't ever let me go back there." Jon watched as the tears began to swiftly fall, her face crumpling as she began to sob quietly.

So he did the only thing that made any sense at all.

He pulled her against his chest, holding tightly to her though she stiffened in his arms, and drew her down towards the floor. She clung to him then, her face buried into his shoulder, her tears soaking his sleeve as she cried every tear she had denied herself. Jon wrapped his arms around her, the warmth of his body returning the heat back to hers, the only sound that of her soft crying and his quiet words of comfort. Nothing in the world would have made him move from her right then, not even the Gods themselves could take him away from Sansa ever again.

There, with her in his arms, Jon vowed that he would set things right. He would do right by her and ensure the bastard Bolton would pay for what he had done to her. Forever more, no matter the cost to himself, he would protect her. He would give his life to ensure she was safe. Gone were the vows he'd made to the Night's Watch, those had died the day he had. No, he had a new vow, a more important one, and that was to protect his sister and take back their home.

It was all they had left, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

He recalled the last time he'd saw her.

Young and frightened, moments before he'd been taken from the wedding feast of his long dead nephew. He had thought of her often, the young Sansa Stark, wondering where her life had taken her since they'd been separated. Once his travels had taken him across the seas, he'd not heard much from Kings Landing nor anywhere else. It had not been until the new King in the North, Jon Snow, had shown up at Dragonstone- where in the end he'd bent at the knee to his own silver-haired queen- that he'd learned news of his one time bride. Jon had not spoken in great detail of the horrors his sister had been dealt by the hands of the Boltons, but truth be told Tyrion didn't need such details to know the truth. He could not begin to imagine the abuse she had suffered... And to think it came so soon after her escape from King's Landing, where there too she had suffered. Was this all that life had in store for the young Sansa Stark?

But now, stepping into the main hall of Winterfell, Tyrion could see what kind of woman she had grown to be. She sat in a chair behind a long table, with a small, dark haired young boy (no, upon close inspection he could see it was in fact her younger sister, Arya) just behind her, hand carefully poised upon the sword sheathed at her side. Sansa had grown, that much he could see, and Tyrion could not help but appreciate the beauty she had become in the time since he'd last saw her. "My lord," Sansa greeted as she rose from her chair, her voice not so childlike as it had once been, not so timid. It was the voice of the Lady of Winterfell. "Welcome to Winterfell." She gestured about the room, the few men within the walls offering him a courteous bow. Behind her, Arya gave a single nod, though her dark eyes regarded him with a wary gaze. Those were not the eyes of someone who trusted easily, Tyrion noted.

"Lady Sansa," Tyrion greeted finally, coming close enough to offer the girl a bow suitable to her rank. This was the girl who should be Queen of the North, the eldest true born Stark child. He reminded himself to speak to Daenerys of this situation, for this girl had already lost almost everything. It would not due for her to lose her home and title too. "It is truly wonderful to see you again. I have thought often of you, in truth." The young woman smiled and it transformed her features, reminding him then of the young girl he'd first met in King's Landing many years ago. A time so long ago it was almost as if it had never even happened. "I was not so certain we would meet again."

Another smile twitched on the young woman's lips as she returned to her chair, her red hair falling across a shoulder as she shifted upon her chair. "In truth I thought the same." Her expression changed then, her blue eyes darkening as she gestured towards the few guards still yet remaining in the room. "You may go as well, Arya." Sansa spoke clearly and though the girl remained still a moment longer, she finally stalked away though the look she shot Tyrion was a dreadful one. "My sister means well, but I fear she is rude. Forgive her manners, my lord." Sansa could not help but to smile at her sister's expense, but she sobered when her eyes returned to Tyrion's. "Hand to the Queen, Daenerys Targaryen of all the Queen's..." She trailed off and settled a little more comfortably into her chair. "It is a role that suits you."

In truth, there was not much about this Daenerys that Sansa knew. They had of course officially met the evening before and Sansa had been awestruck by the dragon queen's beauty. And perhaps a bit jealous by the looks exchanged between her and Jon, though she'd of course never speak on it. "One would be surprised by how easy of a job it is when the royal is not a Lannister." Tyrion spoke and at once Sansa giggled, her hand straying to her mouth as her eyes danced with mirth. "And I must say, you were born to rule the North. Your brother tells me you are well respected in the North, far beyond the respect given to a daughter of Ned Stark. You have earned their respect as their leader." Sansa blushed to the root of her flaming hair, though her eyes held the look of a proud lady. She glanced around the great hall, where once she had watched her own father sit in the same chair she sat upon, speaking to guests the way she spoke to them now... After all that had happened... After all that she had been through...

It was amazing that she'd made it here.

"Jon flatters me. But I do my duty as best that I can. The North is loyal to House Stark," she spoke with a nod, thinking back to the men that had once served her father and grandfather, but now served her instead. "The North remembers all, my Lord Tyrion." Sansa went on, offering him a small, almost strained smile. "They will not forget the unjust ways of the Bolton's nor their abuse and so it is easy for them to return to the old ways and the old House Stark." Part of her wished to speak more but dignity told her otherwise and instead she fell silent, reaching for her wine glass to distract her from the memories that had already begun to resurface.

As Tyrion listened to her speak, he wondered if she knew how her face hardened at the mention of the Bolton's and he wondered if she knew how her hand trembled as she reached for her goblet of wine. He also couldn't help but to wonder when she had grown to like the drink, for he recalled a time when she turned her nose at it. Anger surged through him then, anger at what this poor child had suffered- her life should have been one of happiness and light. Instead, she had been used and abused and thrown away like trash. And yet... As he looked upon her, Tyrion could see that she had begun to rise above. It was as he had said all those years ago... _You may survive us yet, Lady Stark._ And survive she had. "It is easy to obey when a ruler is as kind and beautiful as you are, my lady." Tyrion spoke with all the airs of a proper courtier and for a moment, it was as if they were back at King's Landing. "But you have captured the Northern men's hearts and their loyalties too. Think not it is only because of your family name."

Though she opened her mouth to speak, she was silenced by the sound of the door across the hall opening, and in came Jon, looking every inch the Northern King in his fur lined cloak. "Sansa," he greeted his sister with a grin as she rose to embrace him, their touch lingering perhaps a moment longer than Tyrion might have held onto his own sister. If he'd ever have embraced her, that was. He supposed the two had become close- how many nights had they spoken of the girl while in Dragonstone, after all? It was clear to him that Jon cared greatly for Sansa and she for him. "My lord, I apologize but I would like to steal my sister for the afternoon. There is much for us to discuss."

"Of course, my lord, my lady." Tyrion offered both a bow and watched as Jon offered her his arm. Though Sansa paused, silently bidding Jon to stay only a moment longer. And then she came around to the front of the table, to stand before him with a sheepish smile. Before he could speak, the girl had knelt and flung her arms around him, all propriety thrown aside in the moment. For a instant, he did not know how to respond, but finally put his own arms around the girl and embraced her back, relishing in the warmth of her.

"I am glad to see you, truly I am." She whispered into his ear before she pulled back and stood, smoothing the front of her gown without a word. Then she returned to Jon's side and slipped her arm through his, allowing him to lead her through the door in which he had come through only minutes before. And Tryion smiled, realizing then just how happy he was too, seeing her there like that. The girl had always had something about her that he liked and to see her grown into womanhood was a sight he was glad to see. He could only wish for her happiness in the years to come, for there was no one who deserved happiness more than Sansa Stark.


	8. Chapter 8

When she thought about it, Sansa knew she'd have given up anything to have her family back.

If only she had been smarter back then, if only she had listened to her father when he had told her he was sending her back to Winterfell. But she had fought against leaving King's Landing back then and then days later her father lost his head. She'd been left a prisoner to Joffrey and his mother, mistreated by the boy king and his court. And it wasn't much longer after her father's death that she lost her mother and her oldest brother, too. Alone in the world with no one left to protect her, she got her first taste of true sorrow.

Back then, she had thought life could not get much worse. Oh, if only she could have gone back to those days! Her time spent in King's Landing had been truly awful but then she'd been sold to the Bolton's and her life had become so much worse. Though rescued from Ramsay's clutches, Sansa would not ever forget all that he had done to her; tortured and raped, used and abused. Though her physical wounds had mostly healed, Sansa knew part of her would always feel the pain Ramsay had left upon her heart and mind. Some days were better than others- helping Jon to rule over all of the North helped keep her mind afloat, reminding her of all that was yet to be lost. Though she'd lost nearly everything... There were still a few things left. A few very precious things.

And one of those was knocking heavily upon her door.

It was as she rolled over onto her side that the door to her chamber burst open and Jon stepped over the threshold, shutting the door in the maid's face who was protesting his entry. "Still abed, are you?" He said as he came to stand before her grand bed, dressed in dark breeches and a white overshirt that looked rumpled, as if he'd slept in it the night before. "The morning call came an hour ago already." Jon crossed the room and took hold of her curtains, pulling them apart so the morning, winter sunlight might spill into her chamber. "Come on then."

A sigh escaped her as she rolled onto her other side and pushed herself up onto an elbow, looking out at him there beside her window. The morning sun illuminated him nicely, the golden rays bouncing off his dark curls in the most enticing of ways. "You are going to give poor Agatha a heart attack if you keep barging in here like that. She finds it most unseemly." A smile twitched on her lips as Jon's face broke out into a grin, his brown eyes finding hers as he approached her side of the bed. He silently gestured at the empty space on her bed, a silent question of his joining her, to which she nodded. He climbed onto the end of her bed as she drew her legs up to offer him a bit more space.

"Unseemly?" Jon spoke with a chuckle as he settled into place, reaching up to run a hand through his dark curls, "I suppose she's right." Something unspoken fell between them and Sansa glanced his way, blue eyes finding brown. In the few weeks since their reunion, she and Jon certainly had developed a bond that they'd never had as kids. In truth, she'd been awful to him back then, taking for granted the relationship she had with her other siblings. Her _true_ siblings as she might have said back then. But Sansa knew better now; she had grown as a person and knew that Jon was her family through and through. And in truth he was all she had left except for Arya. She had decided a long time ago that she would never again take her family for granted. "You look well this morning." His voice brought her back and Sansa returned her gaze to his face, where sure enough he was already looking at her.

This had become their usual routine; Sansa couldn't say when it had first started, but it had been ongoing for a few weeks already. In the beginning he'd knock until she opened the door for him, but in the last few days he'd become so comfortable with her that he'd begun to just come in after a few knocks. Sansa also had to suspect that he enjoyed causing Agatha a bit of grief in the mornings. "I feel well," she admitted after a moment, absently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Truly." Jon's smile at her words brought one to her own features and she reached out, sliding her hand into place over his. Jon did not hesitate in turning his hand over, fingers clutching hers, surprising Sansa by the tender gesture. For a moment, neither of them spoke and Sansa could feel her heart racing fast within her chest. She was reminded of her first time meeting Joffrey, when a rush of excitement and anticipation had rushed through her, back before she knew who he truly had been. These feelings she'd begun to develop far exceeded that of a sibling bond. Confusion set in and she awkwardly drew her hand back, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair. "I should dress," she said, slipping off her bed, suddenly well aware of how thin her chemise was.

Jon, sensing her attitude change, nodded and rose up from the bed as well, pausing only a moment to stand before her. "I am proud of you, Sansa," he whispered as his hands slid into place on either side of her face, palms cradling her cheeks as he drew her towards him for a simple kiss to her forehead. When he let her go, it took them both a moment longer to step back from the other, Sansa finding she longed for him to trace his fingertips across more than just her cheeks. Startled again by these new thoughts, it was she that took the first step back, smiling as he headed towards the door, disappearing behind it only after he'd raised his hand to give her a simple little wave. A moment later, Agatha entered looking distressed, grumbling about the new King in the North and his no regard for his sister's privacy, but Sansa was all smiles as her maid began to help her undress. She could not calm the racing of her heart nor the warmth of her skin from where his hands had once been; uncertain as she was, Sansa knew this was the first touch she'd had in years that she'd not trembled beneath the person reaching out. For the first time in years, she was not afraid of the person who touched her. Though these feelings were confusing, they had been built on trust and healing, so Sansa could not so easily let it go, no matter how _unseemly_ someone thought it might be. In Jon, she had found peace and she would never allow someone to take that from her.

With Jon, she felt safe again, and that was something she never thought she'd feel again.


	9. Chapter 9

It was late when Jon heard the soft knock on his chamber door.

Surprise forced him to raise his head from his desk full of papers, dark eyes widening when the door opened and it was Sansa standing there. "Sansa," he breathed, their eyes meeting, her blue eyes full of suffering. "It's late, my love." At once he was on his feet, rising up so fast that he nearly upended the chair he'd been sitting in. He crossed the room to stand before her, reaching out a hand to tenderly touch her cheek, realizing then just how tired she looked. Had she not been sleeping? Jon cursed himself for not paying more mind to the woman he'd grown to love. "Are you alright?"

How did she tell him the truth behind what kept her awake? That despite the safety and comfort he provided for her, she felt terrified. That dreams of those who had hurt her still yet haunted her dreams, that visions of her father's death still yet swam through her memories. The last few years of her life had been nothing but abuse and anguish, a life so unlike the one she had sought for herself. She tried to remain strong, she tried to fight back against the demons that plagued her, but sometimes... Sometimes in the darkness of night, she lost against the pain. This was one of those nights.

The dream in particular had been awful; one of Ramsay and his violent eyes, of his hands on her body. A shudder raced the length of her spine at the mere memory of it and though she told herself that Ramsay was dead and gone, unable to hurt her any longer, she could not help but to tremble. He had hurt her in ways she could not explain... Had destroyed her utterly, from her mind to her body and even her very soul. "I just couldn't sleep," she finally spoke, adverting her eyes, pushing past him to stand beside his desk, littered with papers involving the state of affairs within the new realm. Sometimes it was strange to remember Jon was not just Jon anymore, but rather the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Well, six, she reminded herself, for did she not hold the power of the North herself now? A faint smile crossed her features as she looked back up to him, though it vanished at the sight of his face. "I'm still not a very good liar, am I?" She asked with a heavy sigh, to which Jon shook his head, coming towards her with open arms. Sansa buried herself against his chest, the warmth of his body offering her more comfort than any of his words ever could.

"No love, you're not," Jon chuckled at her expense, drawing her towards his bed and settling her down beside him on its edge. "Tell me." His soft command was enough to get her speaking, spilling to him the dark details of the nightmare she'd had. Jon knew her better than anyone else and he knew this was what she needed. She needed someone to unload upon, someone to hear her fears. She needed someone to protect her. Jon still yet cursed himself for not being there to protect her, for allowing her to ever fall prey to abuse at the hands of another man- her suffering should have ended with Joffrey, but she was sold to a madman instead, and Jon could scarcely think of what that brute Bolton had done to her. "It was just a dream, sweeting." Jon said when she had finished speaking, gripping her hands gently with his own. He wished he could protect her from the nightmares, from the pain of all she had suffered... But he could not. All he could do in a moment such as this was offer her comfort and love. "You know I would never let someone harm you, don't you?" He reached up, hand beneath her chin, drawing her sweet face up to look at him. "I will always protect you, Sansa." That was a promise he had made to her many months ago, the day of their first reunion, when Brienne of Tarth had brought her to him at Castle Black. Jon never would forget the way she had looked that day, so small and pale, draped in a black cloak that she had trembled beneath. In that moment, Jon had felt an anger like never before, but it was gone, soon replaced by the shame of knowing he had failed to protect her.

A small smile curved her lips upward, her blue eyes darkening as she gave a single nod, allowing for him to yet again draw her towards his chest. After a few moments, he pulled her back against the pillows, leaning over her; with slow hands, Jon undressed her, palms tracing the outline of her body, stopping only once he got to her hips. Beneath his gaze, Sansa could not help but to smile again, knowing what he said was true, he would always protect her. He would always take care of her. Jon's mouth was then upon hers, a gentle kiss that was still enough to take her breath away. But then he was pulling away, trailing the softest of kisses from her mouth down her neck and towards her collarbone, stopping only when he came to the small, white line of a scar. Sansa slid her hands into his hair as he brushed his lips against the scar, his cheek pressed to her breast, her heart beating wildly against his skin. When he raised his face back up, it was to look in her beautiful blue eyes and know he was the luckiest man in all of the world.

Much later that night, Sansa was tucked beneath his arm, her red hair a stark contrast to the pure white sheets of his bed. She slept soundly there beside him, perhaps for the first time in a week or more, and for that he was thankful. Though he had left his work unfinished, there was nothing more important to him than the young woman asleep in his bed. Leaning over her, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before settling into place beside her, smiling when she turned closer to him, face buried into the crook of his arm. Jon closed his eyes and breathed in her sweet scent, hoping as he drifted off that her dreams would finally be as sweet as his own.


	10. Chapter 10

It was hard to believe that winter was truly coming to an end.

Jon and his army had done as he'd promised... They had defeated the Night King and his white walkers. He had brought peace back to the Seven Kingdoms and thus been crowned King of them all. They had not spoken much of Daenerys in the days since the war had come to an end, since she'd retreated out of Winterfell and back to Dragonstone. There, she would remain with her child, her one remaining dragon, never again to be called Queen of anything. Mother of dragons she would always be, but after all she had fought for... She would never been Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

In some ways, Sansa felt for Daenerys... For were they both not women trapped in a world ruled by men? Had they both not been used and abused by men for their own gain? Had their circumstances been different, they might have been friends. But the one time Dragon Queen had spurned all those in the North, even Jon faced her wrath the night Bran told them the truth. That very night Daenerys had sailed away, back to her army which she had left at Dragonstone. And then... The war erupted with such a new ferocity that Sansa hadn't been certain it would not end until they were all dead. But thanks to Jaimie Lannister, who had turned against his sister and lover, they had won a decisive battle against Cersei. When they had taken back King's Landing and solidified their army with new troops, it was then that Daenerys had come for them.

But then something strange had happened... Her dragon Rhaegal had never bonded with a rider until he met Tyrion, the little imp that Sansa herself once called husband. A kind man with a fondness for drinking, it had been surprising to say the least when Rhaegal had allowed him to climb onto his great scaled back. With a dragon on their side, Jon's army had marched on until Daenerys and her men were pushed back away from King's Landing.

And that was when Viserion had appeared in the skies above King's Landing, his once creamy gold body turned to ice. Sansa could remember that day, could recall the fear she had felt looking up at the great dragons circling the sky above them. And then Jon had locked her away into dungeon, where she could be kept safe and away from the battle that raged outside the palace. For hours, no perhaps for even days she was trapped down there, surrounded by palace staff, only able to wait for news from the outside. Any moment could have been her very last...

But then Jon had appeared, haggard and broken, but alive. He had collapsed into her arms and had only enough strength to tell her the words she'd always longed to hear... We've won. And that day alone had been weeks before. Things had quickly begun to change after that moment, but such changes were welcome after the years and years of war and suffering. For the first time in many years there was hope in the world again.

"Sansa?"

The voice pulled her back from her thoughts and she turned, facing Jon with a smile. "You're going to catch a chill standing out here without a cloak," he admonished with a chuckle, reaching out to drape her fur lined cloak across her shoulders. Sansa tugged it closer around her, turning back to face out, her blue eyes drinking in the sight of the golden sunlight as it slowly melted the snow. "What are you thinking about?" Jon's voice coaxed her to turn back to him, blue eyes meeting brown, and it was his turn to offer her a grin. "You've been out here a while, is all."

"I'm just thinking back to all that has happened." She admitted as she turned away from him yet again, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the snow still yet settled on the railing in front of her. "Spring is coming." She commented then, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, recalling how just a few weeks ago she had been standing in the same spot, plotting her revenge against the man that had caused her so much grief. "I wasn't certain we would see it again." Jon stepped up, their shoulders brushing as he came to stand beside her, dark hair catching the morning sunlight. They had returned to Winterfell a few nights ago, arriving without the pomp of royalty which Jon continued to shy away from. King of the Seven Kingdoms or not, he was still just Jon to all that knew him. Jon had spoken to the men of the North, reminding them of the pledges he'd given to them and the ones they had given to him. He spoke with all the greatness of a King until he told them he would not be their King at all... But rather, they would be ruled by a Queen who still yet held the name Stark. There must always be a Stark at Winterfell, he had spoken those words to the Lords that night, a grin on his face when he'd turned to look at her. And then he crowned her a queen in her own right, breaking the North from his own Kingdom and giving her what he believed had been hers all along. She was, after all, the heir to the North.

"Nor was I," Jon admitted as he stared out across the courtyard, already bustling with the start of a busy day in Winterfell. Below them, Arya stood with Brienne, both deep in conversation, the small slip of a girl grinning as she listened to whatever it was that Brienne had to say. As she had long ago promised, Brienne had never once strayed from her side, following her from here to there, the first to bow to her as queen. "I was afraid we'd never again have a moment like this." Sansa turned to him then, blue eyes peering into his brown, a small smile twitching on her rosy lips. Reaching out before she could stop herself, she placed her hand over top his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And yet... Here we are." He had found himself longing for moments such as these with her; he enjoyed her company far beyond that of a cousin. During his meetings with advisers, with any Lord, he enjoyed seeing her there at his side. Hearing her speak with the wisdom of any man reminded him of all she had seen and all that she knew. Though some might have once regarded Sansa Stark as nothing more than an empty-headed girl, she was smart beyond her years. She was cunning and strategic, full of ideas that constantly surprised him. Even Jon himself had not given her enough credit and it had almost cost him everything. Now he regarded her in a different light, in a different way, and it was easy to see that so did everyone else.

"And yet you must return to King's Landing," she pouted, her clear blue eyes reflecting the depth of her unhappiness. "We've only just found peace but you must leave us." She could not help but to feel unhappy knowing that Jon would have to leave. King's Landing was always home to the King of the Iron Throne, no matter the King. Suddenly, she was plunged into something deeper than the longing to be with a brother or a cousin. The sadness that clung to her was like the snow that still yet clung to the tree tops. Turning away from Jon, she hoped to hide her face from his eyes, not wanting him to see just how badly it affected her. She had only just managed to pull the pieces of her broken family back together... And now it would be broken yet again.

It was Jon's turn to reach out- his gloved hand lightly cupped her cheek, drawing her back to face him, his brown eyes gleaming in the sunlight. Like Sansa, he too felt the cold drift of sorrow at the thought of leaving both her and Winterfell. If he could have it his way, he might never have left his home again. But, whether he liked it or not, he had a duty to his Kingdom. "Come with me." The words left his lips before he could stop them, surprising the both of them. Emboldened by his slip, Jon chuckled, trailing his fingertips along the outline of her jaw. "Come with me, Sansa." His tone changed, turning to one she'd never before heard and suddenly it was like they were like a flame, the heat of the moment laying siege to their hearts. With her cheeks as red as her hair, her mouth opened and the words that stammered from her lips brought a grin to his face. "Yes, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell," he echoed back the words she'd spoken, moving his hand up to brush a stray lock of that beautiful red hair from her forehead. "And a Stark there shall be. Bran and Arya shall be here of course, and you shall not be gone long. We will call it a peace mission among the new ruling houses of Westeros." His words brought a laugh from her lips and Jon found the sound to be like music. "Say you will come with me." He encouraged softly, leaning in, forehead pressed to hers, their lips hovering dangerously close to one another's. "Sansa, I need you."

Her heart was hammering hard within her chest, so very hard that she was certain Jon would hear it himself. She listened carefully to the words that he spoke, recognizing the look in his eyes as one she'd seen in her own in the last few weeks. He meant what he said, those words he'd spoken were straight from his own heart. And suddenly, suddenly the answer was there on the tip of her tongue, a smile curving on her lips. "Of course I'll come." She said, knowing it had been the answer all along. The only answer at all. It took only a moment longer for Jon's mouth to close over hers, lightly, almost hesitantly, and Sansa felt her heart turn over. She returned the kiss, arms slipping over his shoulders as his came around her waist, drawing her closer than ever before.

For how long they remained there together like that, tangled limbs and sweet kisses, Sansa did not know... But she did know that when they finally parted ways, she was left breathless. Jon was pink-cheeked and grinning, reaching up to run a hand through his black curls. And then he offered her his arm, as a courtier to a queen might do, and she could not help but to laugh as she linked hers with his. Together they made their way back inside, to where they might begin to make plans of returning to King's Landing, for it was as she had said.. Spring was coming and with it would come so many new and beautiful things.

Finally, a future they could look forward to.


	11. Chapter 11

It mattered not how many arrows Ramsay flung his way, Jon would not stop.

Every step that he took drew him closer to the monster that was his sister's captor, her living nightmare. He would never forgive Ramsay Bolton for what he had done to Sansa and the only thing he could think of was tearing him limb from fucking limb.

And then anger like he had never felt before rushed through him, sending chills down his spine as his fist first connected with Ramsay's jaw. One hit, two hits, three... Soon Jon lost count of how many times he slammed his fists into Bolton's face, all he knew was his skin was becoming slick with the man's blood, his own knuckles beginning the dull ache of a deep set bruise. For several long moments (or perhaps years had gone by, Jon truly did not know) he pummeled the man that had broken Sansa almost beyond repair, the man that had stolen their home, beating him until Ramsay was almost unrecognizable.

It was as he drew back for one final hit that something compelled Jon to raise his face, as if something told him there was something else he needed to see. And it was then that his eyes locked upon Sansa's beautiful face, her features twisted with grief and unease, her cheeks drained of color. But it was her eyes that told him everything... This was not his fight to finish.

Without a word, Jon got to his feet, stumbling towards her, but she was not looking at him anymore. As he came to stand beside her, he followed her line of sight to where Ramsay lay bleeding on the ground, wishing for a moment he might know what it was she was thinking. He opened his mouth, his every intention to speak her name but she turned on her heel and vanished through a doorway without a word to him or to anyone at all. Brienne of Tarth immediately went after her and though Jon wished to follow, he suddenly found himself staggering, the weight of his limbs almost too much for him to bear. As he fell, his last thought of was of her and everything he'd ever wanted to tell her.

[ x x x ]

When Sansa returned inside that night, she no longer felt the chill of winter.

Rather, a fire spread through her, changing her, molding her into someone entirely new. Gone was the Sansa Stark she once was and in her place was this new Sansa that the world around her had created. Ending Ramsay's life had solidified her rise from the ashes of despair and she swore from that moment on, he would hold no more power over her.

Returning to her rooms, Sansa was truly not surprised when she found her chamber to already be occupied, knowing Jon had shown quite the restraint in waiting this long to see her. Granted, she knew he'd been confined to his own set of rooms that day, ordered to bed to rest so he might recover from the battle. Already, whispers of his rise to King in the North circled Winterfell, sweeping out across the countryside too, the once proud words of their father in every Northern lord's mouth... _There must always be a Stark in Winterfell._ "Sansa..." he spoke her name softly as he turned around to face her, the dying flames in her fireplace bathing him in dancing light.

Hundreds of questions he wanted to ask her but now that she stood before him, he could not find his voice. The firelight cast her into shadow, its fading light unable to reach her across the room; in that moment, she was like a queen of ice, untouched by even a flame. He watched as she shed her cloak, draping it across a chair as she passed it by, coming to stand before him, her blue eyes piercing in the darkness. "I was worried... I sent to see how you faired and the maid said you were not in your rooms." Jon finally spoke, speaking to her the truth, having indeed sent an inquiry after just just half an hour before. She did not speak as she stared at him, so close to him that Jon could see every droplet of water that clung to her hair and dress. He found he longed to reach for her but kept his arms at his sides rather, clenching his hands into fists in an effort to keep them where they hung. "You went to see him." It was not a question but a statement. He spoke simply, his heart turning over at the way she flinched from his words, her pale cheeks flooding with color as she pushed past him to stand in front of the fire place, hands outstretched to warm them over the flames.

"Yes."

Her soft, but simple response came a few moments later and Jon turned around to focus on her standing there, shoulders curved ever so slightly inwards, hands still yet extended out, a single silver ring glittering on a slim finger. "He's dead." She spoke matter-of-factly, as if speaking of the weather, not a man's life. As Jon came to stand beside her, she turned to look his way, a guarded sort of smile curving her lips. When Jon did not speak, the smile vanished and she gave her head a little shake, turning back to face the fire with a small sigh. "You think I've done wrong, don't you?" She asked softly, hands suddenly twisting together, a helpless sort of look taking root in her eyes. It was then that she made to go, as if she meant to storm away from him, but Jon reached out and took hold of her wrist, preventing her from going far. "Let me go!" She hissed, trying to wrench her hand from his grasp, her heart aching within her very chest. "Let me go, Jon," her words were a whispered plea and Jon pulled her into a tight embrace, holding on even when she squirmed to free herself. He held on as she cried softly against his shoulder, feeling no guilt for the life she'd taken, but crying for the life that hers had become. Blood was blood when it stained your hands, Jon had learned that a long time ago. Claiming the life of someone who wronged you did not always alleviate the pain, but rather you traded one kind of pain for another. And so he spoke soft, comforting words against the shell of her ear as he stroked her hair, hoping he could offer to her even an ounce of comfort.

When she finally drew back several minutes later, it was to sniff and wipe her eyes, looking embarrassed as she stammered through an apology. "There's no need." He finally spoke, reaching out himself to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. "You're wrong you know," he went on, his fingertips ghosting across her jawline, her lips parted ever so slightly as their eyes met. "I don't think you're wrong for killing Ramsay, I think you had every right. God knows I'd have done it myself... But I knew it was a choice you had to make for yourself." Jon had every intention of seeing to Bolton's trial and execution had Sansa not carried out the deed on her own. "If I was a better brother, I'd have warned you on what killing a man does to you, but part of me wanted you to do with him as you pleased."

"In other words, you thought I was not capable." Sansa's words were not harsh, but they still stung a bit as Jon let his hand fall back to his side, surprised by her yet again. "I am not bothered by what I've done." Sansa was not a good liar and he could see that in the moment, she was telling him the complete and utter truth. She was unbothered by what she had just done, because in the depth of her heart she knew it was right. "Ramsay deserved everything he got after all he's done." She had done what she had done to ensure her own sanity, her own healing. In a world where Ramsay yet lived, she would never be safe. In a world where Ramsay went unpunished for his crimes against her, against her family, and against the North, she could never find peace. She had stained her hands with his blood to protect what once had been hers and all she had left.

This was not the Sansa he'd once known. This was someone new, someone different from the sister he'd known as a child. And now... Now he understood that she was not like ice at all, but rather she was like a burning flame. No, even that was not enough to describe Sansa, in truth she was most certainly like a phoenix. Like the bird of legends past, she was born of light but grown from ashes, burning brightly when everyone thought she might fade out. No matter what was thrown her way, she would overcome, she would rise above.

For Sansa was not a woman of snow and ice, but of fire and flame, born to rise again.


	12. Chapter 12

The dragon queen's gaze was steady, but Sansa did not look away.

Rather, it fueled her own to be stronger, enough so that it was Daenerys' who's lips twitched with a condescending sort of smile, glancing away from her for just a moment. "Winterfell is yours, Your Grace." Sansa spoke the words with a smile of her own, but her blue eyes did not waver in their deadly gaze, her true intent written all over her features. But perhaps the dragon queen did not know her well enough to realize, or perhaps she didn't care. Sansa already could see she would not like this woman, the sheer sight of her left her feeling somewhat revolted. Jealousy, she might have called it, though she could not quite understand it. This woman... Daenerys Targaryen... Had they both not lived lives not of their own making? Had they both not been used by men to get ahead? Sansa didn't know much of this woman, but she supposed she had to trust in Jon and hope he had not fallen for the queen's lovely looks. "You must be tired from your journey, please... Allow me to escort you to your rooms." Sansa spoke, bringing Daenerys' attention back to her. A smile fell into place upon her own lips and Sansa gestured for the queen to follow after her.

When the others began to fall into step behind them, it was Tyrion that gestured for them to remain behind. In truth, though his loyalties may have lain with Daenerys, he could not help but to feel joy at seeing Sansa alive and well... As well as wondering what role she would play in the game now that Daenerys was at Winterfell. "They will get along marveously." Tyrion spoke, gaze flitting to Brienne of Tarth who let out a breath hearing his words. "Or so we should all hope." The war that would rage if these two women did not get along would be the worst of them all.

"Your chambers are just down here," Sansa glanced over her shoulder, once again meeting eyes with the dragon queen as they made their way through the halls of Winterfell. Throwing open the door, she encouraged Daenerys to enter first and then followed after her, allowing the door to then close behind her. "I hope they shall suffice."

Daernerys could not help but to survey her surroundings; it was a spacious bedchamber, with a fire already burning in the fireplace just across the way. She ran her hands along the fur lined coverlet, one stiched with such precise stitches that she was truly amazed with the quality. In truth, such stitching seemed quite familiar to her... Turning back to the eldest Stark child, Daenerys could see what Tyrion had said of her was true. "It is as Tyrion says... You are both kind and beautiful." Daenerys spoke softly, tilting her silver-haired head ever so slightly. "Quite welcoming to someone you might truly consider your enemy."

These were dangerous waters and so Sansa knew she had to trudge on carefully. She was reminded back to her times with Margaery, of how a friendship between two ladies might blossom. "Jon trusts you... And I trust Jon." Sansa finally spoke, offering words that were not quite a lie, but not quite the truth. "I have learned to not trust so easily, but Jon I will always trust." Their eyes met and for a moment, both women were silent, taking in the words that Sansa had just laid between them. "Please, don't make me regret my trust in Jon." She finally went on, saying the words she had truly wanted to say all along. Queen or no queen, Sansa would not allow this woman to destroy the family she had begun to piece back together.

A smile graced Daenerys' lips and she realized again, Sansa was exactly as Tyrion had described her; kind, almost too a fault, but untrusting of most. She was as educated as any noble born man and smarter than most of them. _You would be wise to make a friend of Sansa Stark,_ Tyrion had warned her only the night before. _The North will always stand behind her, even aganst you and your army._ "I would like to be friends, Lady Stark." Daenerys again spoke in a soft, gentle tone, her brilliantly colored eyes widening slightly. They swept the Lady of Winterfell up and down and it was then that Daenerys realized just why the stitching on the bedding had seemed so familiar to her, it was of course the same as that on Jon's cloak and a few of his other belongings. And it mirrored that of the stitching of the dress Sansa wore, meaning it was her stitching. Daenerys felt warmth rush through her then, realizing only then that Jon wore clothing made with Sansa's own hands. Queen or not, that was not such a thing she could ever provide for him for she had never been taught to do such a thing. "I have not come here to be enemies." Daenerys went on, refocusing on what was important, not her growing feelings for the girl's bastard brother.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but the door to the chamber opened, distracting them both from their conversation. It was Jon that stepped into the room, grinning awkwardly as he looked from one woman to the other. He could feel there was a bit of tension within the room and he wondered if he'd come in at the worst possible time. "My pardon, your grace." He spoke then, looking at Daenerys with a grin. "I thought I might borrow the Lady of Winterfell, if you might spare her." The two women exchanged a quick glance, and then the dragon queen smiled, giving him a quick nod. And so Daenerys watched as the redhead dipped her a quick, but appropriate curtsy and then was on Jon's arm, allowing him to steer her from the chambers without so much as a backwards glance. Part of her wanted nothing more than to leave Winterfell right then and there, but she was better than that. She was not a normal woman, mere jealousy would not sway her.

At least... She hoped.


	13. Chapter 13

Her heart was beating faster than it ever had.

The air was like lightning; raw, static electricity flowing through the crypts, warming her to her very core. Every step she took echoed in the chamber, every step leading her closer to what she could only call her destiny. As she went by her mother's crypt, she swore she could hear her voice, like a whisper against her skin, telling her exactly what it was that she had to do. She could not fail... No... _They_ could not fail.

From behind her, Sansa could hear the echo of more footsteps, ones she would have known among one hundred; it was Jon. On her right, she could already see Arya standing there before the three newest stone statues, built these last few weeks during her reign as Lady of Winterfell. Words would not come to either sister as they stood there a moment, both turning their heads as Jon approached them, and it was then that the trio closed the gap between themselves and their statues, coming to stand before them in silence. So quiet had it become, Sansa was quite certain that the others could hear the sound of her beating hard, so fast was it within her chest. Staring up into her own stone face, she sucked in a breath, knowing this would someday be her tomb. It would be all of theirs, Jon's too, whether he was truly a Stark or not. He would always be her family.

Suddenly, there was a change in the air. The cold drifted in as if a door had been left wide open, the cold air slowly creeping along the very same path they had just walked. It was as their father had always said... _Winter is coming._ It had already come and this time... They were ready to face it.

All three of them turned as Jon's torch fizzled out, leaving them in total darkness, facing the cold front without fear; Jon and Arya both unsheathed their blades, extending them out before her, as if they meant to protect her from whatever it was that was coming for them. And they would, wouldn't they? Dragons or the Night King, man or monster, there was nothing she had to fear when they faced it together. There was nothing that together they could not accomplish. It was a time for wolves, a time for the North. It was time for House Stark to take back everything that had been stolen from them.

It was time for them to claim their rightful places in this world.

[ x x x ]

He knew it was coming.

Every step that he took led him down the new path of his future. He could not stop his heart from skipping a beat when he saw her standing there, down at the end of the passage, her red hair like a beacon in the cold, dark crypts. And then there was Arya beside her, both of them waiting for him to join them, waiting so they too might take the steps to their destiny. Jon knew what would follow would be the toughest fight of their lives.

He swept by the statues, one by one, first Lyanna's who he knew now was his mother, and then he paused only once, when he reached Ned Stark's statue. It was as if he still yet stood there, living and breathing, not just stone. Jon swore he could still yet hear his voice, reminding him of who he was. _You may not have my name, but you have my blood._ Standing there with Sansa and Arya on his either side, he knew it was true. Despite his bloodline, despite what Bran had just revealed to them... He was a Stark. This was his family, his home, and he would do anything to protect it all.

They came to stand before their statues, inspecting the faces carved from stone, forever frozen in time. Jon thought he might speak, to offer a few words before it began. But there came a rush of cold air and the very breath was snatched from his lungs. And so it would begin. He heard Sansa's sharp intake of breath and it was her he looked to, drinking in the sight of her there, blue eyes piercing in the darkness. They all revolved on the spot, he and Arya drawing their blades, Jon sidestepping just enough to put himself between Sansa and the cold. A glance further and he locked eyes with Arya, knowing well her thoughts were the same as his; _protect Sansa._

That would be his only thought until the end of this war.


	14. Chapter 14

When Jon went into her chambers, he thought she slept before the fire for she sat so still. But as he quietly approached her side, he could see her blue eyes were wide open, staring hard into the burning flames in the hearth. Ghost lay at her feet and he raised his head when he heard his first few footsteps. Sansa on the otherhand did not hear him approach and so Jon took a moment to take in the sight of her there, pale and exhausted as she surely reflected on the meeting they'd just had. "Sansa..." He spoke the syllables of her name as softly as possible, but she still yet jumped at the sound of his voice. She turned to face him there, her piercing eyes finding his for several long moments. But then her face relaxed and she turned back to the fire without a word, the flames mirrored in her eyes. Jon did not speak as he took hold of the other chair, drawing it up to sit beside her.

Neither of them spoke for what could have been hours, Jon had lost count of the time as he usually did whenever he was with her. Sansa had that way about her... To make him forget all else. She often captivated him in a way no one else ever had, in a way he couldn't even explain. He had found himself thinking of her more often, seeking her counsel at any given chance. And when apart, it was her that he thought of, it was her that he worried about. He could not help but to worry for her, especially after all she'd been through. It had taken every ounce of self control to keep himself from knocking Ramsay off his horse and beating him until there was nothing left. Nothing would make him happier than to watch the light go out of that bastard's eyes, especially after knowing the truth of what he'd done to Sansa.

She had not told him everything, he was certain, and what she had told him was more than enough. And after seeing her appearance that first day some weeks ago... Feeling how frail she'd been beneath his embrace had told Jon everything he'd needed to know. Of course Brienne of Tarth had spoken with him privately as well, she had been the one to seek a healing woman rather than a maester for Sansa, knowing her charge would prefer it without ever saying so. Ever since that first day, his anger had begun to fester, growing stronger and stronger. He was suddenly consumed with doing right by her and their family and taking back Winterfell was the only option. Jon had vowed to protect her and protect her he would. Nothing would stop him from destroying Ramsay and his army, nothing would prevent him from taking back Winterfell. Jon would honor his promise to her, no matter the costs to himself.

He opened his mouth to speak- there were so many things he wanted to say, after all- but suddenly he felt Sansa's head against his shoulder, her long red hair falling into his lap. Jon felt his hand twitch, his fingers eager to run through the length of her locks, wanting to feel how soft they would be against his skin. "I had forgotten what it felt like to have hope..." she was speaking quietly, so quiet that Jon had to strain to listen to her words. "Thank you, for that. For helping me to hope again." Jon felt his heart turn over, knowing he could not fail this girl. He could never let her return to that monster's clutches. No matter what, he had to win tomorrow. Silently, he slid his arm around her shoulders, drawing her as close as he could into his grasp. "But I mean what I said Jon." She tilted her head back to look up at him, their faces so close he could have covered her mouth with his own. "I won't go back to him." Her blue eyes were unwavering as she suddenly sat up, still facing him, his arm hung limply around her shoulders. Her hair unbound was shifting across her shoulders and as he drew his hand back, he could run his fingers through the length of it, relishing in just how soft it truly was.

"I won't _ever_ let you go back to him." Jon reaffirmed then, his hand moving in to cup her cheek, fingers slowly tracing the outline of her cheek. She smiled beneath his touch, quite unlike how she'd have reacted some weeks ago. Jon felt a leap of pride in his chest as he realized just how far she'd come since finding him. It was then that her hand slid into place over his, keeping it in place against her cheek; Jon sucked in a soft breath as his eyes found hers, something unspoken fallen between them. This moment... It felt as initmate as it would with a lover and yet... It didn't feel wrong. In fact, it felt more right than anything in his life ever had. Slowly he moved forward, watching to ensure there was no pull back from her, before he did the only other thing he could think to do: he kissed her. Soft and slow, Jon captured her mouth with his, keeping himself aware of her reaction. She stiffened, but not from fear rather surprise, and it was a moment before Jon was about to pull back that he felt her yield to his kiss. She returned the kiss, inching closer to him as Jon slipped his arms around her, her own hands clinging to the front of his shirt. For several long, wonderful moments they remained like that until he broke the kiss for nothing else but to catch his breath, a laugh on his lips as he caught sight of her blushing but delighted face. "Sansa, I..." But she was shaking her head, a laugh dying on her lips as she reached for him again. This time it was her pressing her lips against his, initiating a kiss that was stronger, more passionate than the one he'd just given to her. When she drew back it was to smile upon him, still blushing but her smile was radiant.

Though he opened his mouth to speak, there came a knock on her chamber door and at once he was springing to his feet, both of them turning towards the door as it opened. "My lady." Brienne of Tarth had arrived, glancing from both Sansa to Jon as she came into the room. "My lord, a meeting has been called by the Northern lords. A last minute battle plan." Jon nodded, sparing Sansa a quick glance over his shoulder as if asking her permission to go. Sansa smiled upon him and nodded, waving him away with a quick hand. Jon was smiling too, a smile Brienne had never seen on his usually somber face, and leaned over to kiss the crown of her head. And then he was gone, disappearing only after one last glance at her left him nearly breathless. "I thought I would find you in duress after encountering Bolton, but it seems Jon was right to come to you first." Brienne recalled how Jon had insisted it be him to go after her, to try and offer her some comfort. "I've not seen you smile like that." Sansa blushed beneath her words but merely shrugged her shoulders before rising up from her chair.

"Jon always knows just what to say," Sansa admitted with a smile, coming to stand just before Brienne. "Tomorrow everything changes." She looked up at her sworn sword, knowing besides Jon, this was her one true friend left in the world. Unless Arya and the others came back to her, Jon and Brienne were all she had left. Brienne gave a nod, understanding her completely, knowing that everything rode on the outcome of the battle. Brienne knew there was no option but to win, no option but to take Ramsay Bolton out. And she also knew Sansa had already thought everything through. There would be no returning to Winterfell unless it was as the victor.

She moved across the room to stand at the window that overlooked the courtyard of Castle Black, her hand raised, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. She could still yet feel Jon's against hers, could still yet feel the tug of his fingers through her long red hair. Nothing in all of her life had felt the way it had to have him kissing her, to feel his skin against her own. Anything that felt could not be so wrong, she reasoned with herself, knowing the outrage if they'd been discovered in such a way. Brienne... Brienne would never speak on it, but others would. And others would never understand. Sansa felt her heart twist but pushed such thoughts away. It had only been but one kiss after all. No, she rather focus on what was to come the following day. All the plans had been made, all the back ups set into place. She knew that tomorrow, truly everything would begin to change.

Tomorrow, her life would begin again.


	15. Chapter 15 - Their First Time

He loved her more than words could say.

Jon knew the moment it had happened; it had been weeks ago, when she had grabbed him by the arm and told him he had to be smarter than all of the others. The touch of her hand against his arm had been all he needed to feel, the sound of her voice saying his name had been all he needed to hear. From there, things had begun to change for them; slowly but surely their relationship becoming more than what it ever had been. And then had come the battle, one that would go down in the history books as the Battle of the Bastards, a fight that almost no one expected him to win. But thanks to her, he and many others came out of that fight with their lives. From that moment on, when they had taken back Winterfell from the Bolton's, Jon knew he had to keep her safe. And for her... For her he would truly do anything. He would face the Night King and his army with one of his own... Built with the power of Daenerys' dragons. No matter what it took. He would swear any oath, fight any battle, he would do whatever it took to secure Sansa's life.

But such thoughts were for another time... Jon had much more pressing matters to handle, after all. "We don't have to..." He murmured as his lips nuzzled her neck, hands tracing the length of her body. But Sansa was giving the smallest shake of her head, pulling back to look him in the eyes, her own telling him everything her words had not.

In truth, she wanted this much as he did. For the first time, she was not afraid of what was to come. Jon always had the ability to calm her, no matter the circumstances. Even facing down Ramsay had not frightened her when she'd known Jon was at her side. "I want to." She whispered back as his mouth clamped down over her own, his kiss strong and true, enough to send shivers racing down her spine. Sansa felt Jon's hands as they tightened their hold on her hips, manuevering her backwards until she hit the side of his bed.

"Turn around," his breath was warm against her neck, teeth nipping at the soft flesh of her throat. She complied, turning around as she drew her long red hair over a shoulder, exposing the back of her gown to him. With slightly shaking hands, Jon unfastened the laces until the gown began to slip from her shoulders, exposing the milky white skin hidden beneath the layers. She shrugged from the sleeves, letting the gown hit the floor around her feet, leaving her in nothing but her chemise before his eyes. She slowly turned back to face him, blushing to the very roots of her flaming hair at being exposed in such a way. But then Jon was kissing her like he'd never kissed her before, his palms cupping her cheeks as his tongue met with hers, every unspoken thing answered with his very kiss.

Unlike any time before this, Sansa was not afraid; though her heart was beating fast, it was not from fear but from experiencing it with a man she trusted and loved. For the first time, she wanted what was about to happen. Truthfully, Sansa could not quite pinpoint when their relationship had taken this turn. It had started the day of the battle though, when she'd watched Jon nearly beat Ramsay to death with his own fists. The battle alone had proven to Sansa just how far Jon would have gone for her, for Winterfell, for the North. From that moment on, their bond had only begun to deepen and now... Here they were. Though in the back of her mind she knew some might call this wrong, she could not stop it. Not now. _Let them talk_ , she stubbornly thought, _it matters not_. For the first time in her life, she was consenting to the touch of a man and she would not end it because of what others might have said.

He'd only just returned that very day and all Jon had thought of was her. She was all he ever thought of, in truth. The entire time he'd been in Dragonstone he had missed her terribly and thought of her often. When he thought he was going to die again, this time by the Night King's soldiers, he'd thought of her. His last waking thought would have been her. And he'd thought of her when he'd shared Daenerys' bed just two nights before, wishing with all of his heart that it had been Sansa. He'd once been sickened by his lustful thoughts for her, knowing they shared a father's blood, but... It was not the blood of a father they shared, though they indeed shared the Stark blood. Jon knew perhaps people would speak ill of this, but none of that mattered now. He was free to love this woman without the strain of a sibling bond.

"Jon..." Her whisper sent chills down his spine and Jon realized only then that he'd been staring at her for a long time now. She smiled awkwardly, reminding him that this was her first time with someone who truly cared for her; he had to be gentle. With somewhat hesitant hands, Jon reached for her, his palm enclosing around her breast through her chemise. Something warm and thick unfurled inside of her, weakening her knees, forcing her to take hold of the front of his shirt to remain upright. Kneading the soft flesh of her breast, Jon watched with pleasure as she tipped her head back, red hair like a waterfall behind her. His other hand snuck around her waist, drawing her as close to him as he could muster, knowing she could feel him, hard and pulsing, against her thigh. His hand trailed the length of her body then, stopping only at her waist before he pulled back to look in her eyes. As if she could read his mind, Sansa nodded her head and without a second thought, Jon pulled her chemise up and over her head. Tossing it aside, Jon crushed her against him, marveling at how perfectly she fit against him. He could feel her hands working on his shirt then and so he once again pulled back, this time so he could pull his own shirt over his head, tossing it with her discarded gown.

Sansa could not help but to take a moment to explore the expanse of his chest with her hands. The pads of her fingers trailed along the scars that littered his muscles, knowing there was a story behind every single one of them. Her hand came to the one that had killed him, the one that should have been the end of Jon's story, but thank the Gods it hadn't been. She leaned forward then, pressing her lips onto that scar, offering a silent prayer that Jon was here for this moment. That he was here at all. She felt his hands on her again, this time guiding her back onto the bed, following after her only once he'd cast aside his breeches too.

Climbing onto the bed, Jon hovered over her for a moment, leaning in to kiss her slow and deep. As he broke the kiss he felt her hands in his hair, long slender digits lost in his messy dark curls. "Sansa..." he would never grow tire of whispering her name into the dark, would never grow tired of hearing her soft response. Her blue eyes found his and Jon knew, without any doubt, that she wanted this as much as he did. And so he drifted lower, hands pushing her legs apart at the knees, giving him access to her most tender of places. Positioning himself betwen her legs, Jon met her eyes one last time before he pushed himself inside of her. The sound she made was like music to his ears and Jon felt a rush of lust through his entire body. "Sansa!" This time when he spoke her name, it was with a gasp of breath, his own head thrown back as he began to thrust into her. He could feel her every movement; the arch of her back, the roll of her hips, the grip of her hands. Jon leaned over her then, finally able to take control of himself as they moved past the first few moments, his hands on either side of her head. Slowing his pace, he could not help but to smirk as she whimpered in protest, arching her back to keep him deep inside of her. But Jon pulled back slowly, until he was nearly free from her, loving the feel of her nails clawing down his back. Inch by inch, he slipped back into her, the slow burn of arousal filling him to the very brim. His mouth against hers, he kissed her tenderly, still rocking in perfect time with her as he felt himself coming closer and closer to the edge. Ghosting his lips across her skin, they came to a rest at the hollow of her throat, teeth nipping just hard enough to redden her pale flesh. "I love you," his mouth was at the shell of her ear then, whispering the words he'd been longing to say.

Hearing Jon's soft words, Sansa turned her head to look at him, catching his face between her palms. "I love you, too." She spoke honestly a moment before his mouth captured hers again, hips grinding against her own. The sound that escaped her lips was unlike anything she'd ever heard before and it was all Sansa could do to keep from screaming out. Jon was picking up his pace then, moving faster and faster, sweat glistening across his brow. He was over top her then, taking total control of the moment as he came close to the end. Sansa knew she was almost there too and just looking up at his face as he finished was enough to send her over the edge herself.

As he emptied inside of her, Jon felt her body clenching around his member, such a feeling enough to get him going again. But he pulled free from her a moment later, dropping onto the bed beside her. Drawing her into his arms, Jon pulled her close and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, memorizing the feel of her body against his own. "I mean it, you know." He spoke softly as he slid one arm over her hips, the other crossing her chest to lazily tweak a nipple. "I love you, Sansa." He needed her to understand that he meant it, that it was not just the heat of the moment that made him say such a thing to her. He felt her relax agaist him, settling back as if she already knew how well they fit together.

"I know." She whispered into the dark, her own arm slinging back, hand once again lost among his dark hair. He could feel as she threaded her slender digits through his wild curls, taming them with her gentle movements. "I love you, too." She echoed his own words, comfortable there in his arms. For the first time, she was not broken and bruised by a man's touch. She was not bleeding and trembling, nor feigning unconsciousness in hopes it would end. In truth, there was no place else she'd rather be then right there with him. For the first time, she was truly and utterly happy.

[ x x x ]

It was a few hours later than Jon finally was forced to untangle himself from her, knowing the morning call was not far. She slept soundly beside him, perhaps for the first time in many years, and Jon was overjoyed that he could provide her safety and sleep. Leaning over her, he brushed a feather soft kiss to her temple before rising from her bed to begin tugging his clothes on in the dark. Once dressed, he crossed the room and paused only a moment in the door way so he might spare her a final glance, smiling to himself as she shifted in her sleep, one hand tucked beneath a cheek against her pillow. Even asleep, she captivated him, and Jon had to force himself from her room in fear he would have to take her again.

Making his way through the halls of Winterfell, Jon took the shortest route possible back to his own chamber, seeing only the somber looking Brienne of Tarth as he went. If all went as he hoped, no one would have missed him overnight, his plan for his usual guards to look after Daenerys benefitting him in more than one way now. Though Brienne looked at him oddly, she did not speak as they passed, clearly her pathway leading back the way he'd come. Jon could only hope she would not think much of him walking the corridors of his own home so early in the morning. Approaching his chambers, he sighed with relief as he realized the coast was entirely clear. The last thing he wanted to do was bring shame to Sansa in any way by anyone finding out just what had happened last night.

Closing the door to his chamber behind him, Jon sank down into the chair nearest the fire place, the remnants of yesterday's fire still yet in the hearth. Even now, she was all he could think of. Her beautiful blue eyes, her long red hair; the way she said his name, the way her hands had felt against his bare chest. Jon would have given anything to have stayed there in bed with her all day, nothing to worry about other than pleasing the other. Someday, he vowed, someday they would have that. Heir to the Iron Throne or not, he cared not to rule over any Kingdom at all, if it was not with her at his saide. In truth, he was happy enough to stay there at Wintefell with her for the rest of their lives. Though, something told him things could never be that simple.

But one way or another, he would have a life with her, he would make sure of that.

[ x x x ]

When Sansa woke, Jon was already gone and she found the fireplace to be ablaze, warming the room before she would rise from the bed. It was Brienne who had rekindled the flames, as it always was, still yet her most trusted confidante. "My lady," Brienne greeted as Sansa sat up, clutching the blankets around her naked frame. If Brienne noticed her discarded gown and chemise on the ground, she did not speak on it, but rather approached the bed with a freshly laundered night gown. "Shall I call for a bath?" Brienne met her eyes and something was there, but the older woman would never speak on it. The only thing that mattered to her was Sansa's happiness and health; if Jon gave it to her, then so be it. Sansa nodded, slipping from beneath the blankets a moment after Brienne had disappeared into the antechamber that was connected to her bed chamber.

It took only a few moments before her room was full of maids, two to bring the tub, another to begin laying out her gown for that day. That same maid was the one to pick up her old clothing up off the floor and Sansa couldn't help but to smile as she thought back to what had happened the night before. Sharing her bed with Jon had been an experience she'd never forget and truthfully could not wait for again. Shivers of anticipation rushed through her and she hugged her arms around herself, hoping none of the maids noticed.

Once bathed and dressed, Sansa was preparing to head down to the Great Hall when there came a knock to her door. "Come in," she called, turning around as the door opened, revealing Jon standing there. Her stomach flipped and she smiled, blushing slightly as she came to face him. "Good morning." She greeted as he approached her, the last maid filing past them with a quick curtsy, leaving them alone inside her bed chamber. "I thought you might escort Daenerys," she spoke honestly, knowing despite what was growing between them, he had a duty to the Dragon Queen. At least... For now. "It is her first morning here with us."

It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.

Listening to her speak, Jon shook his head, taking a single step closer to her. Her beauty was breathtaking, capturing him in a way he'd never before been captured by a woman. There with the morning sunlight spilling in through the window, framing her red hair like a crown; and for a moment, he was so struck by the sight that he could not find his voice. It was as if he were seeing into the future then, her with a golden crown perched perfectly upon her beautiful red hair, her arm looped through his. It was a future of happiness, one they could surely achieve. Hearing her speak his name, Jon was brought back to the present and he could not stop himself from reaching for her hand, bringing it close so he might kiss her knuckles. "How could I think to escort any other woman?" His warm breath ghosted across her skin, his lips moving further up to kiss the place where her pulse fluttered against her wrist. "I've sent Ser Davos to escort our guest." Her laugh was like music to his ears, the sound sweeter than anything he'd truly ever heard before. How long had it been since he'd last heard her laugh that way?

They both heard the twisting of the door knob to her room then and at once Jon dropped her hand, stepping back one step as Brienne of Tarth entered the room. She stopped, her surprise at finding him inside Sansa's bed chamber evident, but she did not speak. "My lord," she greeted him finally, offering him a quick bow, noting the close proximity of their bodies, of the pink stain to her lady's cheeks. It was as she thought, then. Very well. "Shall I escort you to the Great Hall?"

Sansa knew her protector and so she knew that Brienne understood just what was going on between them. Her offering meant she would shield them from prying eyes and never speak to anyone of what she knew. Of all people, it was Brienne they could trust with their secret. "Thank you, Brienne." Sansa was the one to speak first, offering her sworn shield a smile before taking the arm that Jon offered her. He then swept her from the room, Brienne a discrete distance behind them, their steps leading them down the halls of Winterfell towards the Great Hall where they would gather for their first meeting with Daenerys and the Northern lords. "It will go well, won't it?" Sansa asked as they approached the hall, slowing to a stop to turn and face him, blue eyes worried. "Queen or no queen, these men will not take kindly to a Targaryen like her." _Like her,_ she had said, making the distinction that they would accept him when they all found out the truth of his birth. Jon was not so sure they would, but now was not the time to talk about himself.

"We must only convince them to follow her in the fight against the White Walkers. Everything else can come after." Jon put his hands upon her shoulders, not once taking his eyes from hers. "The blood that runs through our veins matters not to the Night King, he will destroy us all if we do not band together." Sansa sucked in a deep breath but then nodded. Behind them, Brienne cleared her throat, and they both turned at the sound of the hall door opening.

It was Tyrion that stood there in the doorway, his eyes taking in the sight of Jon and Sansa there together, the Northern King's hands still yet on her shoulders. At once he was correcting his posture, shoulders squared as he stepped around Sansa to come and stand before the small man. "The queen is waiting." Was all that Tyrion said before he turned back around, returning to the Great Hall, the door held open by the guard that stood just inside the doorway. With Sansa behind him and Brienne behind her, they filed into the Great Hall, taking their rightful places at the head table. Daenerys was seated at the table as well, in an extra chair brought for her that morning. Sansa took to her chair only after dipping the Dragon queen a quick, but appropriate curtsy. Seated beside Daenerys, she slid her only one glance before Jon took to his own spot on her right, his steady gaze out on the lords of his land, knowing he was about to ask them the impossible. To side with a queen they would not wish to acknowledge, a queen they already disliked for the fact of who she was. Worse yet, they knew he had bent the knee to her and for that, _he_ was beginning to feel the tension. But he would make them see... That this was the only way.

He would make them understand. He would do it for Sansa and for Winterfell, he would do it for the future he now believed in. With his heart beating fiercely, he opened his mouth, hoping the truth would be all that it took. It would be all he had to offer them, just simple words that he hoped they would hear and understand. Words that he hoped would earn back their trust and faith in him.

"Men, our enemy is on the move... And we must prepare."

And so it began.


	16. Chapter 16

There was a lot on her mind.

Truthfully, she couldn't decide _what_ to think about first- the fact that Jon wasn't truly her brother, but her cousin? Or the fact that he'd brought this Daenerys Stormborn, the supposed last Targaryen with him from Dragonstone in hopes the North would unite behind her in an effort to take down the Night King. Perhaps even the fact that this smirking Targaryen woman had suddenly lost her place as rightful heir to the Iron Throne there Winterfell's Great Hall, when Bran had revealed Jon's true parentage. That fact alone- Jon being the true heir- was hard to believe. She and Jon had not yet been given the chance to speak on any of these matters together, but her hope was they might later that day. It seemed now that things had become a whirlwind of activity- prepping for war on both fronts, as well as everyone coming to terms with all they'd been told the night before.

From where she stood in her chamber, Sansa looked out into Winterfell's courtyard, seeing Tyrion and Jon down there with Ser Davos in their company, all looking solemn faced as they spoke. Around them was a flurry of activity as her people made ready Winterfell for the hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers Daenerys had brought with her. Sansa knew there wasn't enough food to feed her own people let alone a massive foreign army. Had Jon even thought of this? Had Daenerys? As a ruler, her first priority should have been the health and happiness of those who served her, but she'd brought them here without so much as a wagon of grain. If something wasn't done and soon, the entire North would starve.

"My lady?"

So lost in her own thoughts, she'd not heard the knocking on her chamber door. Turning at the sound of her chamberlain's voice, she nodded, indicating for him to speak. "A man on horseback approaches the gates. They say it might be a Lannister." _A Lannister?_ Sansa thought as she brushed past the man, strolling out into the corridor past her guards and down towards the Great Hall. She pushed open the double doors that led out into the courtyard, heading towards the gates where already Jon and the others had begun to gather.

"What should we do?" One guard spoke, looking uncertainly between Jon and Sansa, as if uncertain as to ask permission of. But it was Jon that gestured towards Sansa, as if telling her to make the decision. Her blue eyes met his dark and she could not help but to offer him the smallest of smiles. Sansa faced the guard and gave a single nod of her head, wordlessly giving her permission to open the gates of Winterfell to their newest arrival.

"Open the gates!"

The gates opened wide and sure enough, to every one of them standing there's shock, it was Jaimie Lannister there on horseback. His gaze swiveled from face to face, focusing for a long moment on Tyrion's, as shocked to see him there as Tyrion was to see him. But then they all sidestepped, making space for the golden haired man to pass through the gates, the guards closing them behind him. Jaime slid from his horse a moment later, coming to stand before their small group, looking weary from his travels. But a smile transformed his features and he offered a low bow to Sansa, ever the courtier she recalled from her days at Kings Landing. She blinked, uncertain as to how to take this, but allowed him the chance to greet her and the others as he saw fit. "I'm sure you're asking yourself why I've come here," Jaime said then, looking directly at her, moved by the piercing blue eyes that stared back at him. This was not the same young girl that he'd seen and known at Kings Landing.

"I will have someone show you to a room, eat something and get warm," Sansa replied, gesturing for a man to come forward. "Then we shall talk." She offered this once gleaming soldier a smile, knowing he had to be hungry and cold. "Take him to Rickon's old chamber," she instructed the guard that had appeared at her side, knowing those were one of the only remaining open chambers of Winterfell. It felt more like an inn than a noble house these days. Jaime gave her another bow before bidding her and the others goodbye, following after the guard towards the doors. "Stable his horse," she spoke to another man, who immediately sprung into action at her command. When he too had gone, she finally turned to face the others, noting the somber looks on all of their faces. "Would he truly deflect from Cersei?" She rounded on Tyrion, the only one there who would know the truth of Jaime's intent.

"If he has... Then that means the worst for us." Tyrion replied, his eyes finding hers. Sansa nodded, knowing the truth of the woman as well as him. If Jaime had left Cersei's side, then it meant he no longer agreed with her thoughts and actions. If Jaime had come to them, then it meant Cersei was about to make a move of her own.

"We shall hear him out." Sansa decided, turning then to Jon who was already looking right at her. "Ser Davos, you shall join us." She smiled when the older man offered her his elbow to take, which she did, allowing him to guide her back inside, Jon following after them. Tyrion remained there in the courtyard a moment longer before deciding he needed to speak to his brother before returning to Daenerys. He cast one last glance towards the little group that walked back towards Winterfell, knowing exactly why he had come here: he'd come to pledge himself to Sansa Stark.

[ x x x ]

When they'd gathered in the Great Hall an hour later, it was as she'd said it would be; Jon was seated at her side, with Ser Davos behind them. Brienne stood outside the main doors, guarding the room from anyone's entry. Jaime came through said doors just a moment after they had settled into their chairs, coming to stand before the long table, looking quite refreshed compared to how he'd looked upon arrival. "My lord," Sansa greeted when he'd righted himself from his bow, her blue eyes seeking out his. He'd shed the clothing he had been wearing when he arrived, instead dressed in clothes Sansa had provided for him, looking quite out of sorts with his golden blonde hair and dark, Northen clothing. "We're all eager to hear you're reasoning for coming to Winterfell. Your loyalty to your sister is well known and with her sitting upon the Iron Throne, I'm surprised to see you standing in my hall."

Sansa spoke like an experienced lord, taking Jaime by surprise. It was as they said then, she was born to rule the North... And perhaps more than that. "I've come to pledge my life to you." He spoke simply, raising his hands in a gesture of fealty. "I know it is said you have already a pledged shield to protect you, but allow me to become your pledged sword." It was then that he unsheathed his sword- beside her, Jon started, as if he meant to unsheath his own- but then Jaime dropped to his knees before them all. "Lady Sansa, I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be." He raised his sword up, offering it to her as he spoke. Sansa recalled when Brienne had spoken these very same words to her, back when she'd been alone and scared, back when she had thought her life was truly over. "I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Everyone in the room was quiet as Jaime finished speaking, waiting for what Sansa was going to say. These were not words spoken lightly, oaths were not sworn without meaning. Sansa had lived in King's Landing long enough to know Jaime was not a man who took oaths lightly, he swore by his honor both in battle and a royal court. "There are many here who would tell me not to trust you." She spoke honestly, shifting in her chair as she focused on Jaime's deep set eyes. "I have learned that trust does not come so easily. I have been taught that by your own flesh and blood." She went on, not bothering to hide the truth that everyone knew, that Joffrey and the other children had been his with Cersei, that he called Cersei lover when he should have called her sister. But, all the same, Sansa felt something different about this Jaime Lannister. Rising up from her chair, she came around to stand before him there on his knees and gave a small, single nod. "And I vow… that you shall always have a place by my heart and meat and mead at my table." Behind her, she heard Jon's intake of breath, knowing her choice had surprised him. But something just told her that Jaime was telling the truth, that he spoke to her from the bottom of his heart. "And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise." Jaime stood then, sheathing his sword again by his side, his gaze meeting hers. "Our oath is sworn and the first thing I must ask of you is to tell us what has brought you here. What has turned you against your own blood? Your own sister?" She returned to her place beside Jon, their shoulders brushing as she took to her seat, his hand finding hers beneath the table.

Jaime opened his mouth and began to speak, weaving tales of Cersei's growing madness, of her distrust in even him. And then he began to tell them of her plot with Euron Greyjoy to dishonor the long standing truce between the Iron Throne and House Stark and Targaryen. "You are in grave danger, I fear." Jaime spoke earnestly, his gaze flicking from Sansa to Jon, who clearly held a protective claim to the young woman at his side. "Cersei will have you killed if it means furthering her own plans." At this Sansa could not help but to laugh, having known this for years now. "And I worry about this other queen you now house here in Winterfell." Sansa sobered then, leaning forward as if to hear him more clearly. "The moment the war with the White Walkers is finished, she'll burn you alive if you do not submit to her will." Jon and Sansa exchanged a quick glance before she gestured for him to speak on. "I am surprised you house her at all, after what she did to your own friend's family, my lord." It was Jon he was speaking to now, capturing Jon's attention in a way he hadn't yet.

"What do you speak of?" Jon asked, speaking up for the first time since their meeting had begun. He knew Daenerys had left on Drogon back at Dragonstone and had faced off with the Lannister army. He'd never asked for details on the event as it'd not mattered to him back then... But now, he was curious.

Ah, so they didn't know... Now Jaime understood. For a moment he thought perhaps he should not speak of it, should not set to course this one thing that could change everything. Jaime was not a stupid man and he knew the dragons were the only way to stop the Night King and his army of White Walkers. Him revealing the truth of what had happened to the Tarly men could change the tide of the war and not in a good way. But, he knew that if it were him, he'd want to know the truth of the queen he served and worked beside. Had he not just left his own queen, his own lover, all because he didn't believe in what she stood for any longer? And so he opened his mouth and he said the words. "She burned Randyll and Dickon Tarly alive at the Battle of Goldroad when they refused to bend at the knee." He did not mention the wagons of grain she had burned as well, food for the winter that would have fed the soldiers she coerced by fear into her keep.

It was Jon that reacted first, pushing back from the table as if he meant to rise up, but Sansa took him by the arm, her simple touch keeping him there at her side. "Thank you for your honesty, Ser Jaime." Sansa was the first to speak, turning back to face him with those piercing blue eyes of hers. "I imagine you are tired from your journey, please rest. A servant will be by with something for you to eat beyond bread and butter." She spoke as a true leader would, though he could see she was spooked by all he had revealed of Daenerys Targaryen. Jaime finally nodded, knowing he was dismissed by his new mistress, and so he bowed before her and then turned, slipping from the room past Brienne of Tarth.

For several long moments, neither of them spoke. Ser Davos stood behind them still yet, but found it was not his moment to speak. In truth, he was recalling his own experience with someone he cared for being burned alive, his precious little princess stolen from this world far too soon. "Jon..." Finally she spoke softly, her hand still yet clinging to his arm, her voice directing his gaze towards her face. His dark eyes were wild, manic, as they met her own, his mouth pursed in a tight frown as he fought to retain control. "Come..." She said quietly, rising to her feet, drawing him up with her. Jon did not speak as she slipped her arm through his and gently tugged him towards the door, sparing Davos only one glance over a shoulder.

She knew not what she could do for him in this moment, but she would do all she could. And then... She would do her part as Lady of Winterfell. These crimes would not go unpunished, queen or not, Daenerys would answer for what she had done to innocent men. Sansa swore it.


	17. Chapter 17 - Based on Art

She had been looking for him for close to an hour now, checking all of his usual hiding spots- his chambers and the crypts, under the Heart Tree and even the highest of towers. The garden had been more like a last resort for she'd truly not expected to find him there. But there he was all the same. There in the gardens where the winter roses still yet bloomed, clearly still cared for by someone in Winterfell. And now that she found him there, just how obvious it was. Of course Jon was there, surrounded by the beautiful blooms. They were his mother's favorite flower, Sansa recalled her father saying Lyanna had always been enchanted by their lovely smell. Of course Jon would be there, if only to feel close to her.

He was alone on the bench with the lightest dusting of snow layered over his shoulders. Just how long had he been there? Sansa approached him quietly, noticing how his shoulders shook, telling her just how badly he was hurting. Not that she could blame him. How was one supposed to feel when you lived your whole life thinking you were someone, only to be told you were someone else? Sansa knew how badly Jon had always wanted to be called a Stark, to be a true born son of their father's… And now he wasn't even a bastard. In truth, he was far more than any single one of them. He was a prince, he was royalty. No… He was a King. But, Sansa couldn't help but to still think of him as just Jon. He had always been a Stark to her, after all. This reveal of his parentage didn't have to change anything if he didn't want it to.

Reaching out, she placed her hand upon his shoulder and at once he turned to face her, his face somber and pale. He stared up at her for several long moments before his face crumpled, his own hand sliding into place over hers. She came around then, sinking onto the bench beside him, taking him into her arms as he began to cry. There were no words needed as he held fast to her, as if she were the only thing keeping him anchored to this world. Her body, warm and soft, revived his own cold, aching frame, reminding him that things were not yet all lost. For a long time they sat there together, arms around each other, until finally Jon's tears began to fade and he sat up, though close to her side did he remain. Sansa slipped an arm around his shoulder, drawing him closer, and she felt Jon tip his head to rest against her own.

It was only then that she spoke.

"Nothing has to change you know?" Jon did not reply, but she felt him shift, his hand reaching out to take hold of hers where it sat on his knee. "No matter who anyone else says you are… No matter what kingdom you're born to rule or not rule… You're always going to be Jon Snow to me." She turned her head then, catching the faintest of smiles on his lips before he sat up straight, though their shoulders still brushed.

A moment later, Jon rose up to his feet and Sansa watched as he reached for a winter rose, plucking it from its place in its bush. "For you." He said as he offered it out for her to take, his lips curving with the first true smile she'd seen since his return to Winterfell. "Thank you, Sansa…" He spoke softly this time, his eyes holding so much more meaning than his words could ever say. She smiled as she took the rose from him, their gloved fingers brushing as she accepted the bloom.

And then Jon turned, walking away from her there on the bench, leaving her with a racing heart and blushing cheeks.


	18. Chapter 18

He could not forget what she had said to him, he could not forget how she had looked at him then. Her pale face swam before him, those piercing blue eyes shining in the dark of his tent. She had pulled her furs closer, as if these would serve as protection from what was to come. They had argued, Sansa telling him not to make a mistake, to not do the things Ramsay had expected. And he'd shouted back, telling her they'd never have the number of men needed to take back Winterfell. But that he believed in the odds stacked against them. And it had been then that Sansa had uttered the words Jon had never wanted to hear. _If we lose... I won't go back to Ramsay alive._ She had stared at him then with those same blue eyes, as if daring him to disagree. _Do you understand me?_ She had asked, her gaze unwavering, her heartbeat steady. Jon had barely been able to breathe. Of course he knew what she meant. Of course he knew the truth of her words. "I won't _ever_ let him touch you again." He'd said the only thing he could think to say. "I'll protect you, I promise." It was the only vow he knew he could make, the only promise that meant anything to him. Sansa had looked like she might smile, her eyes darkening as she gazed right at him. _No one can protect me,_ she had said softly, _no one can protect anyone._ Then she had gone, disappearing into the darkness outside, to return to her own tent where she'd remain awake well into the night.

He couldn't forget that. Not the sound of her voice, not the intense stare of her eyes. She had meant what she had said, about not returning to Ramsay alive. Jon knew that if he lost tomorrow, he'd lose more than just Winterfell, more than just Rickon. He would lose Sansa. The very thought left him empty inside. _No one can protect me,_ those soft words she'd spoken wounded him more than any scream or insult could have. Those were the words of a young woman let down by everyone around her. Those were the words of someone without faith, without hope. Sansa had been beaten and betrayed, sold and abused, all at the hands of the men around her. Jon knew he could not protect her from what had happened to her already, but he would die defending her future.

Unable to shake her from his mind, he pulled on his furs and strode from his tent, the icy blast of cold air sending chills down his spine. He walked until he reached the red priestess' tent, going inside without invite. Melisandre sat alone within, turning her head as he approached. "You were not at the war council." He commented as she shifted in the chair to look at him, regarding him with her dark blue eyes.

"I am not a soldier." She replied with a sigh. If she could tell he was restless, she did not comment on it.

"Any advice?" Jon heard himself ask, though a part of him already knew she would have none.

"Don't lose," the red priestess replied, turning back to face the fire she sat before. Jon's lips twitched with a smile, knowing that was the best advice any one could have given him _. Don't lose indeed,_ he thought, he could not begin to imagine what it would be like if he truly did lose to Ramsay.

At once, his mind turned to Sansa... To her smile that had just begun to return to her... To how soft the skin of her palm was when her hand gripped his own... To the way her voice changed when she said his name. No, he could not lose... But if he did? If he did... He could not, would not, live without her. "If I do... If I fall tomorrow... Don't bring me back." Melisandre turned back to him then, her eyes widening as they fell upon his somber features. The priestess could tell he was telling the truth then, that he truly did not want revived if the battle took a turn for the worst. Though she argued with him, Jon left her tent a few minutes later telling himself all would be well, that he would stay true to the promise he'd made Sansa.

Approaching Sansa's tent, he had half of a mind to go inside, to tell her how much he cared, to tell her that everything would end as it should. But he could not see the light of a candle within and so he told himself she'd gone off to sleep and he would tell her tomorrow when the battle was over. Even if she didn't believe him, Jon would keep his promise to protect her. Even if it killed him, he'd take Ramsay Bolton with him.

It was as he had said, he would never let him touch her again.


	19. Chapter 19 - Kidnapping Plot

_You have to stay here._

He'd said those words over and over to her as he nearly dragged her down to the crypts beneath Winterfell, Ghost trotting after them, _you'll be safest down here,_ he'd gone on, his dark eyes never leaving hers. _Promise me you'll come back,_ she'd gripped the front of his cloak, unable to stop herself from pleading with him. _Promise me, Jon._ He'd taken her into his arms then, crushing her against him and Sansa could do nothing but commit to memory the way it felt to have him hold her. He'd kissed her forehead and smiled, but he made no promises. How could he, after all?

And then she watched him go, a cold sense of dread settled into the pit of her stomach.

By now, hours had passed, or so she supposed they had; she'd lost track of the time down there, surrounded by ghosts. She had passed the time praying to the Old Gods and the New, though she'd once sworn off praying, for what God had listened to her before? She had asked for guidance from her mother, her father, and even from her Aunt Lyanna. Sansa could only hope someone out there heard her. Reaching out a hand, she ran it along Ghost's back, watching with curiosity as the wolf suddenly sat upright. "What is it?" She spoke, her voice soft, her eyes following the wolf's line of sight. He'd settled his red-eyed gaze upon the door down the hall, the one which Jon had disappeared through some hours ago.

That was when she noticed it, the movement of the door as someone began to push it open. Her heart lept into her throat, her stomach churning as she rose up from where she sat on the ground. At her feet, Ghost had risen up as well, a low growl escaping his jaws as he took a few steps forward. Had they won already? Was the battle with the Night King truly over? Was this Jon returning to her? Or worse... Was it someone else come to fetch her, to take her to Jon's mangled body brought back to Winterfell? The door swung open then and Sansa felt her breath catch in her throat as a mountain of a man appeared in the doorway. "No..." She whispered as the man stepped into the corridor, his face hidden by a helmet, his white cloak a sign of who had sent him. Ghost was openly growling now, snapping his jaws in a warning to the man coming towards them. "Down, Ghost." Sansa spoke quietly, reaching down to tenderly rub the wolf's head, calming him. She'd never forgive herself if the Mountain killed Ghost and so she stepped in front of the wolf, holding her head high as the man approached her, no ounce of fear in her piercing blue eyes. "She's sent you then?"

Gregor Clegane did not recognize this young woman, this Lady of Winterfell. She was quite unlike the little girl that had once lived in King's Landing so long ago. But those eyes of hers... Those he remembered. Those he would never forget. "Aye," he replied in his gruff voice, reaching for her, her arm so small beneath his grip surely he would break her. Little bird, was that not what his brother had called her? The wolf at her feet snapped his jaws but she hushed him and the wolf sat back, though it continued to growl. Surprisingly, she did not fight against him as he drug her back towards the door, perhaps because she felt the strength of his grip on her arm and knew she was no match. Perhaps she valued her life more than she had back in King's Landing. And so he took her back up into Winterfell, down the main corridor and out the double doors into the courtyard where a huge, black stallion waited for its master.

Things were beginning to make sense now. Sansa could see no trace of servants or the guards left behind by Jon for her own protection. Either they were dead or frightened into hiding. It was snowing like mad and she had no cloak, but the Mountain didn't seem to care if she froze to death before they reached King's Landing. "Up you go," he lifted her onto the horse, the tight grip of his hands on her waist surely bruising her soft skin beneath her layers of clothes. Climbing up onto the horse himself, he snapped the horse into a trot and then they were gone, out the open gates of Winterfell and down the long road towards King's Landing. Looking back over her shoulder, Sansa felt a chill race down her spine that wasn't from the cold. It was Jon she thought of then, of his deep set, dark brown eyes, wishing with all of her might that he was there then. _Please Jon,_ she thought as she was swiftly taken from her home, _please be safe._

If nothing else, even if she got to King's Landing and Cersei took her head, she just wanted him to be alive.

[ x x x ]

All he could think of was her.

He rushed from the battlefield back towards Winterfell, back to where she was. Jon still could barely belive they'd won- he hadn't anticipated it, truthfully- but they had and now he had to see her. He had to hold her. He had to tell her just how he felt. But as he and a few of the survivors approached the gates, he felt it... A cold sense of dread that filled him whole, nearly snatching the breath from his lungs. "Jon?" It was Arya coming up beside him, her dark eyes meeting his, her features taut with worry. Could she feel it too? "Where are the guards?" Jon snapped his gaze from her face to the guard towers on either side of the open gate, realizing only then that there was no one within them. _Sansa!_ He broke off at a run then, leaving Arya and the others behind, uncaring of the pain his battered body felt with every step that he took.

Down to the crypts he rushed, his mind whirling with hundreds of thoughts, but every one of them had to do with her. "Sansa!" He shouted as he nearly broke down the door to get into the passage, stumbling over the crumbling rock that once were a solid set of stairs. To his horror, she did not reply, but rather he heard the soft whining of Ghost. His wolf was pacing back and forth before the statue of Ned Stark, as if this was where Sansa has once been standing. "Sansa..." He came to stand before Ghost, who as soon as he'd noticed him, rushed towards Jon's side, his whining increasing. "It's okay boy," he murmured as he knelt down to put a hand to his ears, rubbing the soft head. "Where is she, Ghost? Where's Sansa?"

"Jon?"

He turned to look over his shoulder at the sound of Arya's voice, noticing only then that her face was bruised and pale. "There's a note." He stood up, his head swimming, and he reached out a hand to touch the wall, steadying himself. Arya approached, her worry evident as she extended out a rolled up parchment, already unsealed. He didn't have to ask her who it was from, for something told Jon he already knew. Unrolling it, Jon felt his heart skip a beat, felt his stomach sink as the unfamiliar handwriting began to blur. _Damn her,_ he thought as he began to fall, _damn that Cersei Lannister._

And then... Everything went black.

[ x x x ]

As the peaks of King's Landing came into view, Sansa knew she was in trouble.

Though she knew Cersei would not kill her outright, how could she after all? But coming back to this place... Here in King's Landing she had suffered so very much. Cersei would not make it easy on her. It would not be as it had once been. And worse yet, for all she knew Cersei would still yet blame her for the death of Joffrey, that alone could be her undoing. Sansa felt a chill race down her spine and she shivered from it, though the Mountain must have thought it was from the cold for he reminded her that they were almost there. Sansa could not help but to laugh-the cold had not bothered her for a long time now. She wished she could still yet feel the biting cold sting against her flesh, but that feeling had disappeared a long time ago.

Riding down the main road towards the Red Keep, Sansa noticed the city was quiet. It was early morning, so very early the sun had not yet even begun to rise. "Cover yourself girl," the Mountain suddenly spoke, draping what must have been his cloak over her hair, hiding her identity from prying eyes. No one could know Ned Stark's daughter, the now Lady of Winterfell, no, the Queen in the North, had been brought back to King's Landing. Drawing the cloak closer to herself, Sansa kept her eyes ahead, knowing everything was about to change.

Again, Jon came to her thoughts and so fiercely did she miss him that it brought tears to her eyes. Was he alright? What of Arya, of Brienne? Even Ser Davos whom she'd begun to establish a close relationship with. Those left in this world that she loved... Were they safe? Had the battle yet been won? And even Daenerys, what of her and her precious dragons? Had they made it through the battle unscathed? Or had they all fallen beneath the Night King's sword... Would there be no one to come and save her? No, she reminded herself, she would have to get herself out of this mess. Somehow.

It was then that they rode through the main gate and as the Mountain came to a stop, it was then that Sansa saw her standing there. Her blonde hair was cropped short, but her gown was as fashionable as ever, with long sleeves and a overlay of silk that draped across her front. Sansa felt her breath catch, but she made no movement even as the man behind her dismounted from his horse. "Get moving girl," the tight grip of his hands on her waist brought her back to the present, and Sansa staggered as her feet hit the ground for the first time in hours. He pushed her towards where Cersei stood in the doorway, paying no mind to how she stumbled over her own feet, clearly exhausted from the hours upon hours of riding. "My queen," he greeted as they approached, tugging the cloak he'd given her away, revealing her face to the woman. "I've brought you Sansa Stark."

Cersei's rosy lips curled with a haunted smile before she tilted her head, inspecting the young, beautiful woman before her. Even after hours of riding, of no sleep and no food, she was lovely. She had grown from a frightened young girl into a beautiful woman. Cersei could not stop the twinge of jealousy, could not help but to recall the old woman's prophecy of the younger, more beautiful queen who would take her place. She had once thought it would be this Daernerys Targaryen who had sailed across the Narrow Sea to reach Westeros, but now... Could it be the girl standing before her? "Hello, little dove." The use of her old pet name did not offer Sansa any comfort, but rather a cold dread settled into the pit of her stomach. But she held her head high and returned the smile that was offered to her.

She had survived Cersei Lannister and King's Landing once before and so she would do it again.

[ x x x ]

When he woke, his first thought was of her.

Forcing himself up from the bed, Jon grimaced, his wounds from the battle painful as they began to heal. "Jon." It was Daenerys seated beside his bed, to his shock, and he could not help but to feel disappointed. It should have been _her_... It should have been Sansa. "You shouldn't move yet." She went on, reaching out with her soft, gentle hands to push him back onto his pillow. "You'll only do more harm to yourself." He shrugged off her hands then, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rising up without a single word. Daenerys sat back in the chair, looking at him with those violet eyes of hers, not a single strand of silver hair out of place on her head. "Jon..." She watched him as he pulled on the nearest shirt, one that Sansa herself had sewn for him before his departure for Dragonstone. Seeing her precise little stitches nearly broke him and he sank back onto his bed, hands covering his face as he fought to regain himself.

"I have to go to King's Landing." He finally said without preamble, lowering his hands to look across at Daenerys. For a moment her typically passive face faltered, disappointment skirting across her features. But then she regained herself, simply nodding as she watched him get back onto his feet. "How long have I been out?" He asked as he reached for the rest of his clothing, the fur trimmed cloak Sansa had made for him now draped over his arm. Daenerys had stood up as well, her violet eyes dark as they met his. _Two days_ , her words haunted him as he shook his head, tugging his cloak on and making to push past her. "Move, _your grace_ ," he spoke with a venom he'd not felt before, his only thoughts of the girl he'd let down. Once again, Sansa was in the hands of the enemy, once again he'd failed to protect her.

Daenerys could not stop the jealousy that lept into her thoughts, darkening her heart. She had thought Jon was her's... Had thought that after all they'd been through already, he would stand beside her no matter what. It was true, his father had been her own brother, but did that truly matter in the end? "You intend to go after her? Cersei Lannister will have you murdered before you can reach her. You would give your life for her so easily?" Jon's face twisted with anger and at once she regretted her words, but there was no taking them back now. Jon stepped close to her then, his brown eyes never once straying from hers, a look in them she had never seen before.

"I would give my life for hers without hesitation." His hands curled into fists at his sides before he shook his head, the anger fleeing, knowing this woman could never understand how he felt about Sansa. No one could. "You want the Iron Throne, it is yours. I have no mind to take it." He finally said the words he'd been meaning to say since the day of his true heritage had been revealed. "I just want her." And then, without waiting for dismissal from the dragon queen, he was gone, nearly sprinting from the room in his haste to gather all he would need to get to King's Landing.

He would save Sansa if it was the last thing he did.

[ x x x ]

It was not the dungeons for her, as she'd expected.

In truth, the rooms Cersei had housed her in were rooms far beyond her station. Sansa noted the silk sheets and chiffon canopy, the gilded furnitature, and the spacious chambers. These had once been Myrcella's chambers. It was as if Cersei had refused to make a single change to the rooms her daughter had once occupied. Sansa had heard the news of her death, brought along to the North by word of mouth and she had felt remorse for the princess. Had they not once been something like friends? In truth, Sansa felt remorse for any innocent life claimed in this game, in this war for the Iron Throne. She wondered if Cersei thought it worth it... The life of her children for this clunky, ugly chair.

A knock on the door and then it opened, a handmaiden coming in with a fresh gown, another following after with water for her to wash. It was her second morning in King's Landing and she'd still yet to see Cersei and that... That was troublesome. But by the looks of the gown brought to her, the queen intended to take an audience with her this very day. And so Sansa allowed herself to be dressed by the maidens, though she did not wash with the water given to her- she would not risk it being tainted with poison.

It was a little later that the summons came- she was seated in the window, looking out across the courtyard of the Red Keep when there came another knock upon her chamber door. It was two of the queen's guard there at her door, their white cloaks a stark contrast to the dark looks upon their faces. "The queen wishes to speak to you, my lady." One guard spoke and Sansa could not help but to smirk; this was not a request, it was a command. But she rose to her feet all the same, allowing the two guards to lead her down the still familiar corridors, not to the Great Hall but to Cersei's own chambers.

She found her seated behind her desk as always, her eyes finding her own the moment she entered the room. "Sit, little dove," Cersei spoke, gesturing for Sansa to take the seat before the desk. "It has been a long time." Sansa did not reply as she took to the seat, her blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she took in the sight of the woman before her. Was that... The curve of a belly she saw? Sansa knew it was true then, the rumors she had heard, that Cersei carried yet another child by her own twin. _It won't live,_ the thought crossed her mind without warning, like a preminition of what was to come. Blinking, she forced a smile and held Cersei's gaze, though she still did not speak. Cersei leaned forward over the desk, hands spread across its surface, those green eyes of hers unwavering in their stare. "I should have had you murdered for what you did to my son." Her voice was dangerous and Sansa felt her stomach drop, her own hands clenching into fists on her lap. "But..." She trailed off then, leaning back in her chair, hands now pressed against the swell of her stomach. Within her she carried the solution to all of her problems- within her, she carried the heir that would follow her. There would be no Targaryen to rule after her. The child would be a girl, she was certain, the woman of prophecy that would take her place on the throne. It would not be Daenerys Targaryen nor would it be this Sansa Stark before her. "Perhaps an exchange of life can be arranged. Yours for the Targaryen queen's."

Sansa did not believe her, not for an instant. There would be no exchanging her life for the dragon queen's that much Sansa was certain of. If Cersei still yet blamed her for Joffrey's death, then she would die before anyone would come for her- if they even did. She still knew not the fate of the beloved family against the army of the dead. And she knew that if Jon and the others were dead... Then what was the use in life? Without Jon, without Arya... It just would never be the same. _Jon..._ She thought of him as she always did, of his smile, of the gentle touch of his hand against hers... _Just please be alright._ "Perhaps, your grace," Sansa finally spoke, her smile slight as she tilted her head, red hair a waterfall. It made no sense to argue her case over Joffrey's death, she would never believe her. "Unless of course Daenerys Targaryen comes for you first." Without waiting for a response, without being bid to rise, Sansa got to her feet and turned her back to this queen, knowing she would never again pretend to serve her. Gone was the young girl this queen had commanded with fright and manipulation and in her place was this new woman, Sansa Stark of Winterfell. The likes of Cersei Lannister could not frighten her anymore.

[ x x x ]

He had been riding for hours.

Hours and hours and yet he felt as if he were no closer to Sansa than when he'd first set out. His body ached and his wounds were bleeding, but he could not yet stop. How could he stop when Sansa was within the enemy's hands? The others tried to get him to stop, Arya and Brienne, Davos and even Tormund, but stopping was not an option. Jon thought of nothing but her... It fueled him to keep on riding, to never stop pushing forward.

"Jon... Look." It was Arya's voice, pulling him from the depth of his own mind, and he glanced beside him to where she rode, hand extended out. Following her pointed finger, he swiveled his gaze and that was when he caught sight of it... The first glimpse of King's Landing. They were still yet far, but that single sight of the tallest peak was enough to give him the energy he needed to continue. "We'll get there in time, Jon." Arya spoke again, once again claiming his attention. Jon stiffened but then nodded, a small smile twitching on his lips. She was right, they would get there in plenty of time to save Sansa.

"It can't be more than a day of riding away," Brienne spoke up, her pale features marred by cuts and a deep set bruise to her left temple. She still yet could not forgive herself for straying from Sansa's side. Yet again, her lady was trapped with the enemy, perhaps suffering in ways she did not deserve. In Cersei's clutches... No, Brienne would not think of such a thing. They would get to her and save her without any harm coming to her. That was all she had to keep her going and so she would believe it until the very end.

"Aye." Jon spoke, glancing to his left at Tormund, who gave a single nod. "Let's make it less than that." He kicked his horse into a gallop and took off, the others taking off after him. _Wait for me, Sansa..._ Jon thought of her smile then, the sweet way it tugged at her rosy lips when she probably didn't even realize it. He would never allow anyone to take that smile away from her, not when she only so recently gained it back. Jon had fought with everything in him to protect her and take back Winterfell, he had sold himself out to the dragon queen and lost the respect of nearly every Northern lord... But he would not lose Sansa.

[ x x x ]

Something was not right.

Sansa could feel it in her bones, that cold sense of dread that only came to her when something truly awful was about to happen. She recalled the first time she had felt it... When Lady had been sentenced to die. And then the next... When her father had so unjustly lost his head. The ripple of anxiety sent chills down her spine, goosebumps rising across the backs of her arms. It had been hours since she had walked free from Cersei's chamber and she was quite surprised that the queen had not sent for her once again. In fact, no one had come to her in quite some time.

Rising up from where she sat at the table, she tiptoed across the room to open her chamber door, even more surprised to find the guards once posted there were gone. Sticking her head out into the hall, she caught sight of a maid rushing by, looking worred. "What's happening?" Sansa spoke loudly, catching the girl's attention. The maid slowed to a stop, glancing left and then right as if she knew she wasn't supposed to be speaking to her. But Sansa stepped fully out of the room then, allowing the chamber door to close behind her. "Tell me what's happening!" If the guards had left their posts outside her door, then that meant something truly awful must have been going on somewhere else in the castle. "Are we under attack?"

The maid again glanced left and then right, swallowing against whatever fears were deep within her. And then... She spoke. "The queen is in labor, my lady." She spoke quietly, the words ones Sansa had not at all anticipated on hearing. "It is much before her time and she is struggling. Many of the guards and staff... They've abandoned their posts. Those who are loyal... They are doing what they can for her grace." And then the maid was gone, racing off towards where she had been heading all along: the main set of doors that would lead her out of the Red Keep and into the streets.

For a moment she could not breathe but then she steadied herself, knowing this could be her one and only chance at escaping. And yet... It was not towards those same doors that her feet carried her, but down the halls towards the queen's chambers. They were a buzz of activity, with maids going in and out, two unfamiliar men pacing outside the chamber door. Sansa went past them without effort, she supposed they had not even noticed her slip on by. Into the antechamber first, she became aware of how dire the situation had to be within the queen's bed chamber. Maids were on their knees, praying to the Old or New Gods, some to save their queen... Others... Perhaps not. For a moment, she thought she might back out, that she would leave without taking another step inside that room. _No,_ she told herself, _you must see this for yourself._ She swept by them, pushing open the door to Cersei's chamber. No one noticed her entry, the two maester's at the foot of the bed conversed in soft, somber tones, their expressions dark. Maids gathered around the bed on either side, their clothing stained with blood, their faces tracked with tears. And then, there she was, the once golden queen laying there in her grand bed, face pale as death itself.

Sansa quietly approached the side of the bed, only then drawing notice from anyone in the room. Cersei's green eyes opened as her head swiveled to face her, lips moving in a silent plea, words that Sansa could not hear. The swollen bump of her abdomen was hidden beneath the draping silk, but even those were stained with blood. It was as she'd thought only a day earlier, the child would not live. And now it was clear to her, neither would the mother. Then she spotted it, a cot on the far side of the bed, where a small bundle was neatly wrapped. Surely within a child lay, a child that never even drew a single breath, a child born far too soon. She made to step back from the bed but she felt a touch to her hand; looking down, it was Cersei grasping for her, lips again moving with words that she could not hear. Leaning down, Sansa placed her ear as close as she dared to the dying woman, to hear what very well could be her final words. _Me? She's going to speak to me?_ Sansa thought, but pushed the thoughts away as she listened to what it was Cersei was trying to say. "A... Girl... Was it... A girl?" Cersei's words cut her like a knife and Sansa drew back, looking up towards the maester's that had heard their queen's whisper. One of them shook his head and then Sansa turned back to look into those fading green eyes. _No_ , Sansa heard herself say, drawing back up to her full height as Cersei smiled, a laugh dying on her dry, chapped lips. _And so I was wrong... So very wrong._ Cersei closed her eyes then and drew a final breath, every ounce of fight leaving her body in that very moment.

And that was when Sansa left.

She backed away from the room as the maids began to cry in earnest, more than one falling to her knees at the queen's bloody bedside. The moment she was in the corridor, Sansa began to run, faster than she had ever run in all of her life. Down the halls and towards the main double doors, uncertain where she would go, but knowing anywhere would be better than here. Pushing past the doors, she stumbled out into the afternoon sunshine, the warmth of it unable to bring her any sense of comfort at all. She slowed to a walk and to a hault as she came upon the five men, all with their stark white cloaks, all with swords strapped to their hips. It was the men that remained of the queen's guard, men that would harm her without a second thought. Breath catching in her throat, Sansa took a step back, wondering if perhaps she'd been safer inside the Red Keep... But now it was too late.

The first man was approaching her, a hungry look in his eyes that Sansa had seen hundred's of times in a man. Fear clutched at her and she turned to make a run for it, but he grabbed hold of her arm before she could go, pulling her hard towards him. A fist connected with her abdomen seconds later and the very breath was knocked from her lungs as she collapsed upon the dirt. She had been here before, hadn't she? Too many times to count. Another hit came, this one in her side, sending her sprawling across the ground. "The queen bid us not to harm you, but now there's no queen." It was a second man that spoke, this one coming closer to reach out and take hold of a fistful of her hair, yanking her back up onto her feet. "But rumor is that you're as good as the Queen in the North... I ain't never been with a queen before, have you men?" The three other men laughed as they all crept closer, agreeing that no, they had never before. Sansa felt her heart skip a beat. This couldn't happen to her.. Not again... Not again! She fought back against the man holding her, his grip now on her arm, but no matter how hard she pulled she could not get free. A second man approached and his hand gripped the shoulder of her gown, tearing it away from her body. The third man was there too, closing in on her as Sansa began to shout, kicking and flailing with all of her might, blue eyes a frenzy as the last of the men circled her. A fist caught her in the mouth, another in the side, all the while the other two tore at her borrowed gown, making every attempt to tear it from her very body.

And then, they all heard it. The sound of galloping horses, the sound of someone come to save her.

Jon could see her up ahead, there in the courtyard of the Red Keep with five men around her. She was struggling against the one holding her and Jon could see her gown was torn, a sign that one of them had put his hands upon her in such a way that enraged him more than he thought possible. With the others thundering along beside him, they swept across the courtyard, breaking apart the five men that had suddenly abandoned Sansa, leaving her there to tumble into the dirt. Leaping from his horse, Jon unsheathed his sword and at once lunged at the nearest of men, the one that had been holding fast to her when they'd rode up. And just like that, a battle had erupted in the courtyard, for even Davos had taken up his sword against a man in honor to fight for the girl that was hunched over on the ground, doing her best to catch her breath and calm her racing heart.

It took him only three more slices before the man was cut down, slumping onto the ground as he gagged on his own blood, clutching at his wounded throat. Jon turned then, his eyes finding Sansa's as she looked out at him from where she sat, the gown she wore in pieces. "Sansa," he whispered her name before he began to run, racing towards her and throwing himself down before her. "Sansa!" He felt her a moment later, his arms winding around her as she threw herself into them, her body quivering as she buried her face into his shoulder. He held onto her as tightly as he dared, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent, the sounds of steel against steel the only other noise in the background as one by one, the queen's guards fell beneath his comrades blades. And then... It went silent.

Only then did he pull back from her, holding her at arm's length; he could already see the bruise upon her face, the blood on her lip. "I can't believe you're here," she whispered, her blue eyes shining as they filled with tears. Jon reached out a hand, thumb catching a tear as it slipped free, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. How was it that he was always there when she needed him most? And not just Jon, she could see all of the others too, the ones that had come to save her from King's Landing. Arya stood just a short distance away, a strange look on her face, but Davos was smiling faintly, as if he'd always known the truth.

"I made you a promise, didn't I?" Jon's voice brought her back and Sansa looked back to him, only to see he was still yet smiling. "I will _always_ protect you, Sansa." He had meant it back then, that vow of protection he'd offered her. Not just against Ramsay, but against anyone who might do her harm. At his words, Sansa was smiling too, before she plunged back into his arms, burying herself as close to him as she possibly could. It was only a few minutes later that he bid her to rise, drawing her up with him. Ser Davos was there then, draping her in his own cloak before offering her his arm, slowly taking her towards Jon's own horse that stood several yards away. Brienne and Arya met them there, Sansa embracing first her younger sister, holding onto the smaller girl for a long moment. And then she was forcing Brienne back onto her feet, for the tall swordswoman had knelt onto the ground at her feet, clearly shamed by Sansa's kidnapping.

Jon watched as she walked away from him, as she met with the others that she loved, knowing he had done as he'd promised. But it wasn't over yet. This was his life. _She_ was his life. He followed the path he'd been born for- no, that he'd been _reborn_ for, and it all led right back to her. And so he walked towards her again, to where Ser Davos was helping her up onto the horse's back and he climbed up behind her. "Lean on me," he whispered against the shell of her ear and he felt her body a moment later, her back against his chest as she settled into place against him. "Let's go home." He said to the others, all of whom had climbed back onto their own horses, all ready to make the journey back home.

Back to Winterfell.

[ x x x ]

It was days later and Jon found himself to finally feel like normal again. After fighting the army of the dead, traveling to and from King's Landing, as well as fighting again, he had found himself to be beyond exhausted. The only thing that had kept him going on the return to Winterfell was Sansa, who rode without complaint even as the bruises began to darken, even when she could not sleep from the nightmares that plagued her yet again.

The moment they had rode through the gates of Winterfell, it was to cheers and joy. The Northern lords and peasants alike had gathered within the gates, cheering the arrival of their Lady of Winterfell and all the others they owed their lives to. Jon had caught sight of Daenerys even, high in the tower that overlooked it all, her pale face peering down from a single window. But even that was days ago and he'd not yet even seen the Dragon queen, he could not even say if she still yet remained in Winterfell. It was as he had told her- he cared not who sat upon the Iron Throne.

Rising from his bed for the first time, Jon dressed in the clean clothes that had been laid out for him and left his chamber, his feet taking him the familiar path to Sansa's. But, it took only a quick glance inside to see that she was not there and at once his heart was fluttering fast. He made his way down the halls but still could not find her. At least... Not at first.

He found her on the upper walkway with Ghost, looking out over all of Winterfell. She was dressed warmly, her fur cloak draped across her shoulders, the gown beneath it a deep and somber shade of blue he'd never before seen her wear, but recalled it being a color Catelyn Stark had often worn. She looked so beautiful standing there he could not help but to stand and stare a moment longer than he meant to. "Sansa," finally he spoke her name as he approached, the sound of his voice catching her attention. Her smile was radiant as she reached out a gloved hand to touch Ghost's head a moment before the direwolf came towards him, rubbing his head against Jon's knees. He ran his own hand along the wolf's neck and spine, thankful he still yet had his companion, though he'd seen little of the direwolf since his return. Ghost had comitted himself to Sansa in the same sort of way Jon had it seemed. "How are you?"

Sansa regarded him for a moment longer before she turned back to face the vast expanse of space that was Winterfell, her gloved hands falling into place upon the stone before her. "I'm home," she said simply, her lips curving with a smile. "We're home." She clarified then, turning back to face him, the wind catching her long red hair. Jon could not help himself from reaching out, tucking a strand behind her ear, his fingertips trailing the length of her jaw as he drew his hand back. She caught his hand then, giving it the softest of squeezes as she stepped a little closer, the gap between them minimal at best. She heard him say her name, so softly that she thought she might have imagined it, but he was smiling as she leaned in, almost hesitantly, catching his mouth with her own.

Jon took her into his arms the moment he felt her lips find his and suddenly there was no gap between them at all. He returned her kiss with every ounce of passion he could muster, wondering just how long he'd truly been waiting to do this. As he drew back a few moments later, it was to cup her cheek with his palm, her blue eyes finding his as her hand slid into place over his. And then he said the only words that seemed to make sense.

"We're home."

And now, all would be well.


	20. Chapter 20

"The mother of dragons, my lady."

The announcement of the Targaryen queen to her own personal chambers surprised her, but Sansa kept her face passive as the door opened and she walked in. Though she knew it was proper and courteous to rise for her arrival, Sansa remained settled in her chair, yards of fabric draped over her legs. "Your grace," she greeted with a cool smile, settling her blue eyes upon the young woman. She wasn't much older than Sansa herself, but her beauty was far beyond hers. Sansa could not stop the fresh wave of jealousy towards her; she would never know what it was like to be so beautiful, so small and delicate, like the petals of a winter rose. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" She tried to do her part of making the dragon queen feel welcome, but she could not forget what Jon had whispered to her the day of their arrival. _Believe in me,_ he had whispered, his breath warm against the shell of her ear, reminding her of the night they'd spent alone before he had left for Dragonstone. They'd not had much time together since Jon had returned, bringing with him this beautiful queen, and Sansa could not help but to feel somewhat put off by him. She knew what was at stake here and she hated herself for her damn jealousy, but hard as she tried, she could not shake it.

"I should like to be friends, Lady Stark." Daenerys spoke, her command of their language as if she'd been born speaking it, though her accent was misplaced among the Northerners. "I have been told quite a deal about you, though we've not yet had a chance to truly meet beyond our first meeting." In truth, it was Tyrion that was pushing her to befriend the Lady Sansa Stark. Shameful as it was to admit, Daenerys could not help but to feel jealousy towards the young woman. She was beautiful- tall and thin like a willow tree, with long red hair that must have felt like silk. And perhaps Jon did not realize it, but she could see how he looked at her, at this half sister of his. It was the way she wished he would look at _her._ It was true, they had spent a night together before coming to Winterfell, but looking back... It had not felt the way coupling had felt with men prior. Daenerys hadn't been able to place the strange feel to it, but perhaps now she was beginning to understand... But, she'd not come to Lady Stark's chambers to mope about her brother. No, she knew well now that the North backed this young woman. They would crown her Queen in the North without hesitation, as they had once crowned Jon. The Lords would not back her unless Sansa Stark said so. And so, she would have to befriend the eldest Stark child and hope in the end she would have her backing for the Iron Throne.

"If it is Jon or Tyrion telling you things, I'm afraid you will be disappointed." Sansa said with a smile, carefully slipping her needle into the fabric she had been working on. It was lovely fabric, perhaps the nicest fabric she'd worked with yet. At first glance, it seemed black, but in the light it shined green and blue, much like the scales of a fish, and was textured as such. Just a few more stitches here and there and the gown would be complete, ready to be worn at the next meeting with the Lord's. "Jon gives me too much credit and Tyrion was always overly kind to me during our time together in King's Landing." She wondered if the imp had ever told this Daenerys Targaryen that they'd once been wed.

Daenerys smiled, leaning forward on her elbows to carefully inspect the fabric Sansa had been sewing. "I think you should give yourself more credence, I have heard from many about you, even since arriving here." That was the truth. Yes, Tyrion had told her quite a bit her, about her abuse in King's Landing. Dany felt for the girl, truthfully she did. Were they both not products of a man's dark, cruel world? She knew little else, other than she'd been married to a man named Bolton, a bastard of a Northern lord, but Jon had went to war against him and thus reclaimed Winterfell in the name of the Starks. But, she knew little else. Looking into the young woman's eyes though, Dany could see she had suffered, that she had been abused far more than Tyrion had ever let on. In ways that no woman should ever suffer. In ways she herself had suffered, too. But more than all of that... Daenerys could tell how beloved she was to her people, to these Northerners. They spoke to her with respect beyond that of the King's sister, or the daughter of their previous Lord. They spoke to her with admiration in their eyes and bowed in her presence, as if she were a queen herself. And they did it of their own free will, these Northern men and lords. They adored Sansa Stark and from what she had collected, they had since the day of her birth. "This is lovely," she commented, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the fabric. "Jon told me you are quite good at sewing." Dany looked up and violet eyes met blue, Sansa's lips curving with the first glimpse of a true smile.

"Thank you," she replied, giving in for just a moment, spreading the fabric of the dress out so the dragon queen could see its shape, its design. "My mother taught me... To sew, that is." Sansa smiled deeper, recalling those early days of her youth when her mother had first taught her to make those tiny, precise stitches. "Surely you must sew just as well, if not better than I." Sansa could not imagine a princess who could not sew, a queen that was not taught all of the womanly duties a future queen must know.

To her surprise, Daenerys shook her head. "No, I never was taught." She admitted, running her hand along the scaled fabric. "My mother died just after my birth and after that I was with my brother." There had been no women in her young life to teach her such a thing. "Do you make all of your dresses?" She recalled the two dark gowns she'd seen the girl in thus far, both made in the Northern style, her furs elegant touches. Sansa nodded and to her surprise, blushed when Dany complimented her skills. "Truly, I do not think I could even make a stitch, let alone a gown." This earned her a little chuckle, surprising Dany yet again. Perhaps this would be easier than she thought... In all honesty, she found it easy to like Sansa, the girl was quite charming when she let down her guard.

"I could teach you, if you'd like." Sansa said then, her blue eyes seeking out Dany's violet. "I have this lovely silk that would look nice with your hair," silk was a fabric far too thin to be useful in the North, especially during the long winter. And though she had once dreamed of wearing silk gowns and golden crowns, such dreams were long gone. She knew her duty to Jon, to ensuring this easily provoked queen felt welcomed and at ease in the North. At least for now, until the Night King was destroyed. But... Despite wanting to be cold and distant, Sansa could not help but to be charmed by the dragon queen. She was friendly enough, but her smile was easy-going and her strange colored eyes vibrant. Besides... Teaching her to sew would be a welcome change to the life she'd grown used to living; a life where war was all around them. For even an hour, she might pretend life was normal again.

"I should like that," Dany said honestly, sitting up straighter in her chair. "It might be nice to talk of something other than war and strategy. To do something a normal woman might do." For a moment, Sansa was surprised by the queen's choice of words, but recovered a moment later, a smile taking place on her lips.

"First, I you must learn a basic stitch," Sansa said, rising up from her chair, carefully laying her almost completed dress across her bed. "I shall show you." She returned to her chair, pulling it closer to Daenerys', fishing in her sewing basket for a scrap of linen and a fresh needle. "Like this." She demonstrated by pumping the needle in and out of the fabric, leaving behind a neat little line of stitches. Handing the fabric across to Daenerys, she watched as she carefully tried to make the first stitch, but grimaced when she stuck her thumb instead. "Careful," Sansa giggled without remorse, reaching out to place Daenerys' hands to get a better angle. They worked at it together, talking over things like their childhood's and even their dreams left behind. Before long, Sansa was complimenting Daenerys' first line of neat little stitches, bringing a smile to her face. As she opened her mouth to speak, a knock sounded on the chamber door and Sansa raised her head towards it as she called out permission to enter.

It was Jon there in her doorway, his dark eyes darting from one face to the other, his surprise at their close proximity evident. But Sansa was smiling upon him, unspoken words falling between them, a perfect understanding. "I've come to tell you supper is to be served." He recovered enough to speak, finally taking his eyes from Sansa to fall upon the dragon queen, who was smiling down at the sewing in her hands. For the first time since he'd met her, Daenerys looked like a normal woman.

From behind him, Ser Davos appeared, always close by when he was needed most. Jon allowed him to step into the room at his side, his smile gallant as he offered his arm to the dragon queen. "Might I escort you, your grace?" Daenerys smiled back at him, rising up when Sansa had taken the sewing from her. With a nod, she put her hand to the older man's elbow, allowing him to steer her from the room only after bidding goodbye to the Stark siblings.

The moment the door had closed, Jon turned to her, uncertain as to what to say. He knew how hard this had to be for Sansa... Giving up her home to this foreign queen after only just getting it back. He was proud of her, for all she had done so far. "You're teaching her to sew?" He asked, watching as she placed the fabric squares back into the basket at her feet. "You looked like a pair of normal women." He went on as she rose up, coming to stand before him, her rosy lips curved with a smile. Jon could not stop himself from reaching for her, drawing her into a warm embrace. "Can we speak... Tonight?" He murmured against her hair, breathing in her sweet scent. He'd missed her more than words could ever explain. Since his return to Winterfell two days before, he'd yet to have a chance to sit and talk with her... And more. He longed to hold her as he had done the night before leaving for Dragonstone. "Tell me you will come to my rooms tonight."

For a long moment, she allowed herself to grow warm in his arms. When Jon held her, she felt safe, a feeling she had once thought she'd never feel again. When he spoke, she could not help but to laugh, drawing back to peer into his face. "I will." She promised with a smile, taking his arm when he offered it to her a few moments later. They would make their way down to the great hall and have dinner, then she might spend some more time with this foreign queen, or perhaps see to some of the North's affairs. But then it was as she'd promised Jon, she'd visit his rooms that night, where they would finally have a chance to speak of all that had happened. Finally, they might catch one another up on all things the other had missed. And maybe... They might spend another night wrapped in each other's arms.


	21. Chapter 21

Every step that he took brought him closer to her.

Though her face was passive, almost unreadable, Jon watched as she opened her arms to him. "Believe in me." He whispered, breath warm against the shell of her ear, his arms squeezing her. She stiffened but did not release him and for a single moment it was not as if they were surrounded by people. But then she raised her eyes and she saw the silver-haired beauty coming towards them, a taller man in tow. It was only then that she let him go, Jon stepping around to her side as the dragon queen approached.

Sansa wanted nothing more than to turn her back on all of them, even Jon. She couldn't help but to be angry with him. They all knew what he had done, what he had given to this Daenerys Targaryen. This foreign queen. _Believe in me,_ he'd whispered to her.. And she wanted to. Truly, she did. But how could she when he'd just given away her home and birthright to a woman he didn't know? The silver-haired woman was then standing before her and for a long moment both women merely regarded the other, the slightest of frowns curving on the redheads lips. "Winterfell is yours, your grace." She said without feeling, her heart icy as the dragon queen smiled up at her, violet eyes bright in the winter sunlight. By then, another young woman had appeared behind Daenerys and Sansa could see Tyrion was finally coming through the gate. "I trust you are cold and tired from your journey. Allow me to have you escorted to your chambers." With a quick wave of her hand, an old serving woman appeared behind her, bowing slightly, not to the queen but to the lady. "Anything you need, just ask." Sansa nodded when the queen offered her thanks, before allowing the old woman to lead her and her lady towards Winterfell.

The moment they'd gone, Jon turned to her, but she pushed past him, leaving him to stand there in the courtyard, watching her go. "She's angry." Bran's voice cut into his thoughts and Jon turned, focusing on the brother he'd long thought dead. "Hello, Jon." The young man tilted his head as he stared up at the man Jon had become. The two brothers embraced then and when Jon pulled back, it was to look back to where Sansa had stood, unaware of how his every emotion was written on his face. "Go after her." Bran said then, catching Jon's attention yet again. "She will understand if you only talk to her." They locked eyes for a moment, but then Jon nodded, taking a moment to clasp his only brother's shoulder. "Tonight, we must talk, Jon." He nodded again, before he turned away and began to walk across the courtyard, towards the doorway Sansa had disappeared through earlier.

And that was when he made his way into Winterfell, down its familiar corridors until he found himself before the Lord's chambers. Reaching out a hand, he knocked thrice, listening to the sound of her footsteps from within. She opened the door a moment later and for a moment they simply stared back at one another, not a single word being spoken. But then she stepped aside, gesturing for him to come inside, and once in she closed the door behind him. Though all he wanted to do was take her into his arms, Jon found himself just standing in the center of her chambers, never taking his eyes off of her. "Sansa... I..." He began, licking his lips, trying to find the right words to say. There were hundreds of things he wanted to tell her, hundreds of things he wanted to explain.

"How could you do this?"

Her whispered words were like a scream and Jon flinched as if she'd struck him. His eyes raised to her face, unsurprised to see the tears brimming in her brilliantly colored eyes. "You just... You just gave her the North?" She was trembling, a raised hand curling into a fist before her chest, eyes closing as she heaved something between a sigh and a sob. "You gave away our home without even asking me." Those eyes opened and Jon felt his heart breaking as a tear escaped, tracing along the curve of her cheek. Instinctively, he reached out and swiped his thumb across her petal soft skin, erasing any trace of the tear. "And then you ride into Winterfell like her consort?" She was angrier now, drawing back from his touch, her eyes blazing. "You left for Dragonstone to become her ally, not her lover." She snapped the words she'd been holding inside and shrank back, turning her back to him.

"Sansa, I..." What did he say? How did he say it? She was not wrong, he'd taken Daenerys as a lover, but it was not as Sansa thought it was. "I told you... I would do whatever it took to protect you, to protect the North." He felt his heart racing as he tried to find the right words. Words that would make her see. "Daenerys would not have helped us if I didn't bend the knee-"

"Bend the knee?" Sansa's laugh was incredulous as she whipped back around, red hair swinging. "And what... Sleeping with her would solidify your alliance?" Her eyes narrowed, cheeks red blooms of color, lips quivering. "Just admit it, you love her, this damned dragon queen." The accusation fell between them and it was only then that Jon knew he had to tell her the full truth. He had wanted to avoid telling anyone, for fear it would all unravel. But what he had with Sansa was so much more important than any damned alliance with Daenerys Targaryen. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sansa yet again cut him off. "I'm pregnant, Jon."

These words fell between them and for a long moment Jon could not think. His once spinning mind stopped completely and there was nothing he could do but stare back at her, dark eyes wide. "Say something! I have waited with this news all these weeks while you've been away, sleeping with our enemy! You sailed for Dragonstone and forgot about me-" She was cut off then as Jon captured her mouth with his, wrapping her in his embrace. At first she struggled against him, but then she yielded, sinking against him until he was all that kept her upright.

Pulling back a few moments later, Jon raised his hands to cup either side of her beautiful face, forcing her to look up at him. "Sweetheart, I never forgot you. How could I?" He whispered, his own eyes misty as the realization dawned on him what was happening. "I swear to you... On the life of this babe," his hand strayed down to her still yet flat abdomen, "I swear it on anything you ask me to... I only did what I had to do." Tears leaked from her eyes and once again he wiped them away with gentle strokes of his thumbs. "The war against the army of the dead is close at hand. Daenerys has armies and dragonglass, we need her. She is no ordinary woman. I had to bend to her will if it meant securing her help. I vowed to do whatever it took and so I did." He pulled her close yet again, feeling her tremble as she buried her face into his shoulder. "The last thing I want to do is bring you dishonor," he whispered, knowing well her belly would begin to curve with the growth of the life inside of her and then what would people say? And worse of all... Should something happen to him in the fight against the Night King... No, he could not think of that. "When the fight against the Night King is over... Winterfell will be ours again. I swear it to you." He pulled back so he could look her in the eyes as he spoke this vow. It took several moments, but she finally nodded, returning to his arms, the one place she so truly belonged.

[ x x x ]

Later that night when Jon left Sansa asleep in her rooms, he made his way down the halls, deciding to make only a single stop before his own rooms. Knocking on the door, he heard shuffling and a voice calling out _come in._ He went inside the room, surprised to see Bran was not alone. "Hello, Jon." Bran said in his new, strange voice from across the room, and Sam was looking at him over a shoulder. "How is Sansa?" Bran's dark eyes focused on him and for a moment, it was as if he already knew the truth. Jon could not say why he felt such a thing right then, but with Bran looking at him that way, it was just as if he could read his every thought. Sansa had told him he was changed... Different... But had told him he would see when they spoke.

"She's well enough, sleeping." Jon said as he came the rest of the way into the room, turning to Sam for a quick, one armed embrace. "It's good to see you, my friend." Jon dropped down into the other empty chair, looking to Bran then. "You said you wanted to speak to me," his younger brother regarded him carefully for a long moment, before nodding.

"Yes." Bran replied, his cryptic voice sending chills down Jon's spine. "It is about your mother." He went on, watching as Jon's brow arched and the man leaned forward in his chair. "And your father." That was when Jon's face screwed up as if he did not understand. He opened his mouth, perhaps to question Bran's words, but the younger man shook his head before gesturing towards Sam. "Samwell has brought some interesting learnings with him from the Citadel."

And that was when Sam began to talk, telling him how before Robert's Rebellion, Rhaegar Targaryen had his marriage annulled and he secretly wed another woman. "Lyanna Stark, my aunt." Bran said when Sam had finished, drawing the attention back to him. "She was your mother, Jon. And Rhaegar Targaryen was your father." For what felt like a century, Jon did not speak, none of them did. Perhaps had Bran known what Sansa had already told him, he might have waited til morning to drop such a bombshell upon him. "You understand, don't you?" Bran asked then, bringing Jon back out of his own whirling thoughts. "With you from Dragonstone you brought the woman who thinks she is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne... But it is you, Jon. You are Rhaegar Targaryen's last living heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

He could not believe what he was hearing. All his life he had lived believing he was someone else... The bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow, that was who he was. He had gone his entire life wishing to only become a Stark... and now he wasn't even the Stark bastard. He was a Targaryen. Hundreds of thoughts were rushing through him, too many for him to focus on. "Your name... Do you want to know what your mother named you?" Bran's voice returned him to the present and though he could not speak, Jon gave a single nod of his head. He did want to know... He did. "Aegon Targaryen." Jon shuddered, recalling how his father's first born heir had once had the same name. "Everything you did brought you to where you are now. Where you belong... Home." Jon fixed his eyes upon Bran's and gave another single nod. But was it true... Was Winterfell where he belonged? It was true, the blood of a Stark still yet ran through his veins, but was he tainted by the other blood within him? The blood of a father he'd never met?

Without a word, Jon rose up from the chair so fast he nearly upended it. Though Sam called out to him, Jon escaped from Bran's rooms and let the door slam closed behind him. And then he finally made his way to his own chambers; Jon found it to be warm and inviting, immediately reminding him of Sansa. _Sansa!_ The thought of her left him as warm as the fire blazing in the hearth did. A new thought was beginning to develop within his swirling mind and he dropped down onto his bed as he began to think. If what Bran had just told him was the truth... His sibling tie to Sansa was gone. He had not known what he would do for her, the honorable thing of course would have been to wed her, but he never could marry his own half sister, no matter how much he'd have liked to. But now... With this revelation... Things were different. Things had changed.

Laying back against his pillows, fully dressed but not caring; he lay awake for hours, thinking about everything that had happened this first day back at Winterfell. But he knew what he had to do now. In the morning at first light, he would wake Sam and then Sansa, and he would do right by her and their child. He would not have a bastard, he'd vowed that a long time ago. This way... If something truly happened, she would not be shunned and their child raised with a title and a name.

In the morning, he would marry her.


	22. Chapter 22 - S8 Spoilers

_She doesnt need to be my friend, but i am her queen. If she can't respect me..._

His lip twitches just recalling those words, ever thankful for the interruption. Even now he seethes with anger, wishing with all his might to have set that bloody woman straight. He had assaulted men for saying less of her, after all. But Daenerys Targaryen was not so easily dismissed, so easily told off. He can't risk her fury, though he wishes he might. However, it seems things might begin to change now, after what Sam had told him the night before.

A knock sounds on the door, tugging him free from his thoughts, and the door swings open. She comes through the doorway like a storm, swirling black skirts and ice cold eyes; but she softens as their eyes meet, red hair twisted back in an elaborate knot he wishes to undo. "Sansa," he says her name softly as she comes to stand before him, the firelight dancing across her skin. He wants to tell her, the truth is there on the tip of his tongue. "I missed you at dinner," he says instead. He always notices her absence. Always.

"I had work to do." The truth was, the Lady of Winterfell thought if she missed a meal or two, it would provide more for her people. "The dragons ate ten more goats this afternoon," she says without prompting, reminding him of yet another of their growing problems. "We cannot feed them, Jon, surely you know this." He's reminded of her fury during the first council meeting and Daenerys' red hot stare. _If she can't respect me..._ He gives his head a little shake.

"You shouldn't provoke her," he says and watches her face twist with anger.

"Me?" She laughs but the sound never reaches her eyes. "You are foolish, Jon."

He knows this already.

"You don't know what she's capable of," Jon watches as her face changes, anger replaced by surprise, a perfectly sculpted brow disappearing behind hair. "I brought her here to protect you, to protect the North." He wants so desperately for her to believe him. _Do you have no faith in me at all?_ _ **You know I do.**_ "But she won't stand for disrespect-"

"It is she that disrespects all of us- you included." Sansa snaps, cutting him off before he can finish. "Your dragon queen has doomed us all to starvation." Her sapphire eyes widen, the breath catching in her throat as Jon takes a single step closer to where she stands. He knows she's angry with him, he doesn't blame her, but he still wants to hold her. She fights him at first, struggling to wiggle free from his grasp, but he only holds on tighter. Finally he feels her yield, knees sinking beneath her as she grabs hold of him to remain upright. "How could you do this to me?" She whispers these words but she might have well yelled. He wishes she would have, it might have hurt less. Jon knows what this was doing to her and there it was again, the truth on the tip of his tongue. But he holds fast, knowing now was not the time. Not before the fight.

"I did it for you," he pulls back to look her in the face; she's crying, but she doesn't even notice. "I promised I would protect you, didn't I?" She almost laughs, but it sounds like a sob. _She's not your sister..._ He reaches out a hand, ghosting his fingertips along the outline of her jaw. Did she even realize how beautiful he thought she was? And now... He shakes his head, hesitantly drawing his hand back. _She's not your sister,_ he tells himself again as her hand takes his, pulling it back to its place against her soft cheek.

"Doomed us to starve should we actually win against the Night King? You did _that_ for me?" She asks, the smallest of smiles blooming on her lips. "That was, by far, the stupidest thing you've ever done." Jon knows her anger is fading, her trust returning. Even just a little.

"You asked me to help you take back Winterfell," he reminds her, his hand reaching around to the back of her head, absently touching the mound of braids. "And as King, it was my job to protect the North and you... You _are_ the North." He finishes and she's blushing beneath his fingertips. "I brought an army and dragons and even a foreign queen to protect you. I would do anything for you, surely you know that?" She looks up at him for a long moment, her blue eyes soft and red rimmed from crying. Gods, she was beautiful. "I know it doesn't make sense to you, but I swear it Sansa, I never meant to hurt you. I only did what I thought was best to serve you and the North."

"This is the opposite of what I told you to do." She replies but then she's in his arms yet again, face buried in his shoulder. It had been so long since they'd held each other this way but Jon had not yet forgotten what it felt like to have her in his arms. Jon chuckles, tucking his chin atop her head and breathes in her sweet, familiar scent. She's like a dream come to life. A dream he hopes to never wake from.


	23. Chapter 23

He can't believe this might be the last time he sees her.

They stand across from each other, neither speaking, though he can hear her ragged breaths as she tries not to cry. "Sansa..." He says her name for perhaps the tenth time, taking a single step forward, closing the gap between them. There's so many things he wants to say to her. _I love you, I've always loved you._ Those are the words that come to him first. They're on the tip of his tongue.

"You promised to protect me," she says softly, bringing him back from his mind. Her sapphire eyes cut him like glass, lips trembling as she offers him a small smile. "So come back to me or else... Or else father's ghost will come back and murder you." A laugh escapes him and he reaches for her then, drawing her into his embrace. Jon knew he should tell her the truth about him, about who he was... But for this moment, he didn't want anything else to change. He wanted to be Jon Snow, hopelessly in love with his sister, wrong as that was. He wanted to feel the tremor of excitement he always felt when she was near, he wanted to feel the stabbing of loneliness whenever they parted. For even just one more night, things could be as they always were.

But things were about to change, no matter how badly he wished they wouldn't.

"I'll come back to you, I promise," he vows, reaching to take her hands. They're small and warm in his own. He'd have given anything to stay there with her forever, safe inside their home. "And Sansa... When I come back..." _When I come back, I'll tell you everything._ He pauses, cut off by a knock on the door. It swings open a moment later and Jaime is standing there when Jon lets go of her hands. The man looks from face to face, perhaps startled to see them standing so close, but then again... He'd noticed their longing stares days ago.

"My apologies, but we're ready." Jaime finally says before he's gone, giving them one last moment together.

Jon turns back to face her and gone are her tears, instead replaced with a look of determination. "I have to go," he whispers and she nods. Jon feels the brush of a body against his legs and there is Ghost, circling them until he finds a place beside her. She grips his hands one last time, relishing in the warmth of his skin... But then he slips away, disappearing out the doorway, leaving her there with Ghost at her side. The wolf whines and nudges her hand, the one that had just been holding onto Jon's.

"Let's see him off, shall we?" She asks the wolf before taking a deep, steadying breath. Together they make their way down the corridor and she steps out onto the battlements, walking down the narrow walkway until she was overlooking the courtyard. Sansa recalled the last time she stood there to see him off, when he left for Dragonstone some months before. Back then she'd thought she'd never see him again, for what Stark had ever faired well against a Targaryen? But he had come back to her then and he would come back to her now.

He was climbing onto his horse when he felt her gaze.

Turning around, he could see her there on the battlements, red hair windswept as she raised her hand in a silent goodbye. He would commit to memory what she looked like right then and right there, with her rosy cheeks and trembling smile. Jon raised his own hand, reminiscent of the last time they had shared a silent goodbye. And then he turned away, riding off towards the battle that would truly change everything.


	24. Chapter 24

Jon was tired, beyond tired in truth, but the moment he heard the soft knocking he felt his heart skip. For a single moment he thought it might be Daenerys come to continue their talk from the crypts- but no, she'd be mourning her trusted advisor, Jorah, wouldn't she? And now that he listened, those soft knocks he knew and knew well. Jon knew long before he opened the door that it would be Sansa standing there. "Sansa." Her name is on his lips as dark eyes meet blue, a faint smile appearing on her face.

She crosses the threshold into his chamber, pausing only when she hears the door close. Turning back to face him, Sansa felt the familiar pang in her heart, the fervent reminder of all she did not have. Of all she desired. Sapphire eyes take in the sight of him there, battered and tired... But he's alive. Jon was alive and had come back to her as he had promised to do just the night before. "I heard what happened in the crypts... I'm sorry... I should have known-" Jon begins, looking down at his feet as if shamed by the admission. _I should have known better,_ he thinks for the tenth time that hour. His stupidity had almost cost Sansa her life, had cost other's their lives, and for that he was shamed. It's only a moment later that Jon feels her body crash into his, her arms winding around him as she lets out something torn between a laugh and a sob. "Sansa...?" He questions softly before he sinks into her, his own arms looping themselves at her waist. Her hair is so long it brushes his wrists, the red strands like silk against his skin. He could lose himself in her hair as easily as he loses himself into her eyes.

"I told you to be careful," she tries to scold, but Jon laughs at her words, the sound like music to her ears. "And instead you face a dragon without more than a sword." She draws back, her arms now draped lazily over his shoulders. "You were almost killed." Jon reaches out to brush away her tears, his fingertips ghosting along her petal soft skin.

"Almost." He agrees, bringing a watery smile to the surface. "I thought of you, you know..." Jon leans in, touching his forehead to hers, mouth so close she can feel the warmth of his breath. "When I faced that dragon, I was prepared to die. My final thoughts... They would have been of you." His voice is soft as he grasps her hands, squeezing them tightly. He hears her soft intake of breath, he knows it's caught in her throat. All she can do is squeeze his hands back. "Sansa... I have to tell you something." He remembers when they had said goodbye the night before, he had vowed to tell her the truth when he returned from the battle. It's only then that her mouth captures his, silencing him before he can speak.

"Tell me tomorrow." She whispers when she pulls back slightly, her hands sliding into place on his face. His dark curls tickle her fingertips as she slides them upwards, cradling his cheeks in her palms. For just one night more, she wanted things to remain as they were. For just one more night, she wanted to hold her brother in her arms and worry about everything else in the morning.

"Tomorrow." He takes her hand and pulls her across the room, stopping only when they reach his bed. "Turn around." His voice is husky and his hands are shaking as he reaches out to unlace her gown. When she's on his bed, he can't help but to stare down at her, so thankful that they have this moment together. But then she's tugging him down to the bed alongside her and suddenly it's like they've become one, nothing more than a tangle of limbs as he kisses her. "Tomorrow." He whispers again, this time against the shell of her ear, the word like a promise between them.

When he lays beside her sleeping form just a few hours later, Jon knows how incredibly lucky he was to have this moment. He leans down over her, brushing a soft kiss to her temple before he lays back and draws her body against his own. She murmurs in her sleep but doesn't wake, rather she settles deeper into it, one hand tucked beneath her cheek as she shifts onto his pillow. Jon holds her close and tells himself it was as he promised, he would tell her the truth in the morning. For these last few hours, they could just be who they had always thought themselves to be.


	25. Chap 25 - Sansa & Dany Moment Rewrite

When Jon said he was bringing with him a Targaryen queen, Sansa had not expected who he brought. It had always been rumored that the young queen was beautiful and yet... Sansa was awestruck by her beauty. All soft edges, Daenerys Targaryen was silver-haired with violet eyes that even long after they parted, she could not help but to still see. Her dragons were terrifying, she supposed, but Sansa felt no fear. She was as strong as Winterfell, after all.

Sitting there in her office, the one that had once belonged to Jon, Sansa was checking over every last detail of what was to come. Even now as she sat there, people poured into Winterfell where they could be kept safe from harm. At least... She hoped so. Fear for her people consumed her, in truth she'd suffered many sleepless nights in the weeks since Jon had left for Dragonstone. His arrival had done little to calm her, though happy as she was to have her brother back where he belonged in Winterfell. They had all worried for him leaving- for what had happened to the last Stark to stand before a Targaryen royal? But, Jon had come back to her and finally her family was pieced back together again.

Back to the scrolls littering her desk, Sansa did not notice the approaching footsteps.

Dany stood in the doorway for a long moment, the door propped open to allow Sansa's advisors to come in and out as they needed. She could not help but to admire the young woman that sat behind the desk, red hair falling down her back like a waterfall. Dany couldn't help but to wonder what it would feel like between her fingers. They had not had many chances to speak alone and she had felt compelled to seek the Lady of Winterfell out. Though Jon was named King in the North, he had told her himself that such a title should have gone to his sister. Dany reminded herself again that when the time came, she'd not let these people down. She would be a good queen to them and assure them the North could remain its own kingdom, reclaimed in the name of House Stark from the treacherous Bolton's.

Raising a hand, she knocked thrice on the doorframe and smiled when Sansa looked up. "Lady Stark," she greeted, gesturing for the young woman to remain where she sat, coming into the room only after she gently shut the door behind her. "I hope I'm not interrupting." She went on, looking down at the papers scattered across the table top. As Sansa shook her head, Dany took the seat across from her.

"No, of course not," Sansa's rosy lips curved with a cautious sort of smile- this was a young woman that did not trust easily. Not that Daenerys could blame her. She knew only a little of what she had suffered through- both in King's Landing and here in her very own home- and something told her she didn't want the full details. The poor girl had been used and abused for years now, it was a wonder she trusted anybody at all. "I'm only trying to ensure all of the North is as safe as they can be."

"You make this look easy." Daenerys says with another smile, reaching out to touch the hands that were settled upon the table top. "Jon told me you were meant for it, moreso than he ever was." Dany tilted her head as she met eyes with her, momentarily lost in her sapphire gaze. A shiver raced the length of her spine and Dany drew back, hyper aware of how it felt staring into Sansa's eyes. She must have noticed it too for she drew back her hands and then looked down at them clasped in her lap, cheeks bright blooms of color. "Your people truly respect you." She had learned from many within Winterfell about how much they adored the eldest daughter of Ned Stark, but knowing her told Dany exactly why. Sansa was charming, with a sweet smile and pretty face; but she was also calculating and caring, her number one worry always that of her people. Dany could not help but to like her, as most people would say about the young Lady of Winterfell.

"Jon stretches the truth about me." Sansa is quick to shake her head with a soft chuckle. "I have done the best I could while he was away, but in truth I could not wait for his return." She looks up then, her cheeks still warm with color, but her lips were smiling. "I do well for running things, but Jon... He can get anyone on his side. He's a natural leader." A moment later though, she leans back in her chair, still closely regarding the dragon queen before her. "When all of this is done... When the Night King is beaten... What about the North?"

Dany arches a brow in surprise, but then smiles with a quick shake of her head. "It is yours, Lady Stark." She watches as Sansa's face changes, shock taking root. "You took it back from those who meant to destroy you. It is as I plan to do with the Iron Throne." She locks eyes with the young woman, suddenly thinking about what a team they two would be- the two most powerful women in Westeros. Why, in the entire world. "When I have my throne, you shall have yours." She said with a strong nod. "I swear to you, I will never take the North from House Stark." Sansa's face changes, as if she might cry, but then she holds her head high as she can, giving a single yet solemn nod. "The North is yours, Lady Stark. Always."

"Sansa," she says in response, hesitantly reaching out to touch Daenerys' hands as the dragon queen had done just a few minutes before. "Please, call me Sansa."

Daenerys smiles and nods, the warmth of Sansa's hands sending shockwaves through her entire being. "Only if you call me Daenerys."


	26. Chapter 26 - S8 Spoilers

He finds her alone in the godswood, tucked beneath the heart tree with her black skirts gathered all around her. Jon can't help but to stand there on the side, watching her, thinking perhaps it's best he doesn't disturb her. But he knows she needs someone, anyone, in a moment such as this. And so he begins to walk, crossing the way until he's standing before her. She tips her head back to look at him and Jon feels his heart break; her cheeks are red from the cold and her eyes are swollen, tear tracks tracing her skin. "Jon," is all she can say before her face crumples.

Jon drops down and takes her into his arms, holding on as tightly as he dared while she began to sob. He doesn't know what to truly say and so all he can do is whisper against the crown of her head that everything would be alright. At least now they had tomorrow. Her cries slowly begin to quiet and fade to nothing but sniffles, only then does she begin to pull herself from his grasp. "I'm sorry it had to be him." Jon says with honesty, reaching out to take her hands, cold even through her gloves. He knew how much Theon had meant to Sansa, after all that they'd gone through together... it was no wonder they were so very close.

"So am I." She says, turning away though she keeps her hand in his.

They sit in silence awhile until Jon feels her shift and then feels the warm weight of her head against his shoulder. He leans his against hers, listening to the soft sounds of her every breath, thankful he has this moment with her at all. Any moment could have gone wrong for either one of them and yet... There they still stood. "We'll bury him in the crypts," Jon says to her, knowing Theon had wished to be a trueborn Stark as much as he had. It had been one of the only things he had in common with Theon Greyjoy beyond caring about the girl settled beside him.

"No," her answer is soft as she shifts closer to him, giving his hand a tight squeeze. "We will spread his ashes into the sea as his family has done for generations." She sighs, lids falling closed for just a moment. "But we will build him a statue in the crypts. So all that come after us will remember him. So no one will ever forget what he did for House Stark." Tears are silently falling down her cheeks and Jon can say nothing else, for what words are there left to say? Instead he slips an arm around her and pulls her as close as he can, the warmth of him alone offering her more comfort than he even knows.

Neither of them move for a while longer, long past the time both of their legs have fallen asleep beneath them. Jon is the first to rise up, offering her his hand to pull her up onto her own two feet. There beneath the godswood, something unspoken falls between them, something neither of them is quite yet ready to speak to. At least... Not yet. Not until their dead are burned and mourned. "He told me you would always take care of me, you know." She said as she slipped her arm through his, allowing him to begin to steer her back towards what remained of Winterfell. When Jon glanced her way, she ducked her head and smiled, red hair falling across a shoulder as the wind blew. "Theon, I mean." She clarified, lifting her head only to glance his way. "When we were escaping from Ramsay together... Even when we were still there... He always said you would protect me." She can still recall Theon's dark eyes as they settled on hers, the way his mouth curved in such a way when he spoke her name. She would never forget him, that much was certain. She stops walking and Jon turns to face her, his dark Stark eyes widening ever so slightly. "He was right." His face softens at her words and she can't help but to smile.

Jon remembered a time where Sansa had once proclaimed that nobody could protect anyone, that she didn't need protecting, even from him. She was not that same broken girl she'd been when they had first come together, one who shied from even family's protection. This was a girl who had been let down by everyone in her life until now, he never could have blamed her for doubting him or Theon or anyone else. "I'll always protect you," he affirms with a nod that brings a chuckle from her lips, the first laugh she's let go in days.

"I know," she says before they begin to walk once again. Sansa knows the days that come won't be easy, but with Jon beside her... She would make it. With him at her side, there was nothing to fear.


	27. Chapter 27

When Jon woke the next morning, it was to the sound of someone tending to the fire. Opening an eye, he peered out across the still dark room, making out the tall frame that belonged to Brienne of Tarth- Sansa's ever faithful sworn sword came every morning to ensure her lady was warm before waking. As the lady knight stood, the fire came to life, casting the room into a golden glow and for a split second their eyes met. But then Brienne gave a single nod and left the room without a word. Jon knew how much Sansa trusted the woman and so, he knew he could trust her, too. Even with a secret such as this one.

Beside him, Sansa stirs, and he sits up in bed to look down at her as she yawns, one arm over her head in a stretch. A moment later she rolls over onto her back, only then noticing he's there beside her in bed. "You're still here," she says with a smile as their eyes meet, sitting up herself, fur covers clutched close to her naked frame.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." He says with a smile, watching another one bloom on her pretty features. But then he sobers, remembering the night before, remembering the words he'd still yet to say to her. "I have something to tell you," he reminds her, watching as she rises from the bed, revealing her bare, lithe frame to his gaze. She reaches for her nightgown which had been laid out for her the night before but never even worn. When she's dressed, she turns back to face him, the fire illuminating her from behind. She nods finally, its all she can do. The words are there on the tip of his tongue but suddenly, he's lost his nerve- he's afraid of what she's going to say or do. But then she leans in, kissing him quick, offering him the little bit of encouragement he needed. "It's about my mother... And my father."

And then he begins to speak, weaving for her the words that Sam had told him only a few nights ago. "My mother was never kidnapped... Never raped... He loved her and so he married her in secret." Jon finishes, looking down at his hands on the fur covers. Sansa's mind is spinning as she takes in all that Jon has said- her aunt Lyanna was his mother, his father the dead Targaryen prince Rhaegar. Now she was beginning to understand things from childhood she'd thought she'd forgotten about. Her father's insistence at always keeping promises, of always being honorable to your word. There had also been a time she'd overheard her parents arguing about Jon and her father had angrily reminder her mother that she was never to speak of the boy's birth again. And so... Even her own mother had not known the truth. Ned Stark had gone to his grave with this secret of his, all to protect the nephew he'd taken in as his own. All her life she'd been raised to think of Jon as her brother, but this truth of his birth meant... He was her cousin. How had she never noticed? Everyone always said what a remarkable resemblance there was between Jon and Arya, the only two of the siblings to look like a true Stark. And everyone always said Arya looked like their aunt Lyanna. Sansa herself had looked up at her aunt's statue and noticed the uncanny resemblance between them. She had always thought it was just Jon looking like their father, nothing more, nothing less. But in truth... He looked like his mother. It was almost hard to believe he could have been fathered by a Targaryen prince, so like a Stark was he. "Say something, Sansa." He pleads, reminding her she'd not spoken for several moments now. "Anything."

She sinks down onto her bed beside him, reaching out to tenderly touch his cheek, smiling when he raised a hand to cover hers. "It doesn't change anything," she knew him well enough to know what raised fear within him. He was afraid he had lost his place in their family. Jon Snow who had always wanted nothing more than to be a true born Stark was now not even a bastard. He was a prince, a King some might even say. His eyes widen at her words, his mouth wordlessly opening and closing again. "You're always going to be Jon Snow to me." His features soften and Sansa wraps her arms around him as he falls against her, his head buried in the crook of her shoulder. She puts a hand into his hair, stroking his dark curls. "I'm your family, no matter who your parents were. And Bran and Arya, too." Her voice ghosts across his skin as her other hand trails the length of his spine, softly caressing every scar she feels.

Jon draws back from her, he can't help himself, he needs to look into her beautiful eyes. He has to wonder how fate could be so kind to him, to bring him this girl who meant everything to him. "I love you," he says as he pulls her to his chest, breathing her in; if it were up to him, he'd never let her go again. _I love you, too,_ her whisper is so soft he can't even be certain he really hears her voice at all.

One thing was certain, he was thankful that tomorrow had finally come.


	28. Chapter 28

For the fifth morning in a row, Sansa wakes up ill.

"My lady..." It's Brienne as she leans over the water basin, holding her red hair back as she throws up a second time. "Are you alright?" She knows her lady and knows that something is wrong- she had begun to notice it weeks ago now. "Shall I call for the maester?"

As Sansa rises up, she feels Brienne's hand to her arm, steadying her where she stands. "There's no need, I know what's wrong with me." She's a slow learner, perhaps, but this is something she knows and knows well. "I'm with child." A flutter of joy races through her, but she dares not be _too_ excited. Not yet, anyways. It was still so early, anything could go wrong. And more than that... It was so very early in her marriage. Would Jon be happy to hear she was carrying his child? Sometimes she still could not help but to doubt the feelings he had for her- their marriage was, as most called it, politically advantageous.

It was true, he claimed he loved her and had all along- despite the sibling ties they once thought they shared. But the way he had looked at the dragon queen... The way he had behaved until the very end... Somewhere, in the very back of her mind, she could not help but to have doubts. Jon had swore to her he had felt nothing for Daenerys Targaryen, but the woman had been so beautiful, so charming, Sansa could not have ever hoped to compete with her. And now that she was gone, sometimes she feared Jon had simply settled for her because it was his duty as King to provide the realm with stability. And stability would only come with a wife and queen that would provide him with children to marry to other noble houses, forming new bonds that would hopefully last for centuries. Sansa knew it was an honor to have been selected as his queen and Jon swore he chose her for love and nothing else... And yet... It was still there in the back of her mind... _What if he hadn't?_

"That's wonderful!" Brienne's voice brings her back and Sansa forces a smile, her good mood suddenly spoiled. "Jon will be delighted." Sansa focuses her gaze on her sworn sword and sees the truth there on her face- Brienne truly did believe in the love Jon had for her. Surely that meant something?

"Yes... I suppose he will be." Sansa says with a slow nod, resolving not to worry about it until she was even certain of how the next few weeks would go.

[ x x x ]

He wishes she would just talk to him.

 _It's too early too have lost love between us,_ Jon worries as he settles in for the night, droplets of rain a soft swell of music outside his window. _She must be angry with me... but for what?_ He curses aloud, cursing both himself and the young woman he loved so dearly. Sansa had grown somewhat distant- she was kind as always, her sweet smile never straying far from her rosy lips... And yet... Jon feels it every time, the soft tug of heartache. As if everything is not as it should be. _I must talk to her._ He rises up from his bed, knowing he'd never go to sleep if he didn't.

It was yet another night of her sleeping away from his chambers, though he can't say why. When they had first wed only three months ago, she had kept his bed warm every night as winter slipped away. But now, she had not come to his rooms for nearly two weeks now. He's racked his brains for days now, trying to recall what it was he'd done to deserve her displeasure. Arriving to her rooms, he raised his hand as if to knock, but thought on it and instead pushed the door open without even a word.

When the door opens, she's about to climb into her bed; his chest is heaving, worry carved deep into his features. "What have I done?" He asks without preamble, his dark eyes frantically searching her face for the answer. "What have I done to offend you so?"

"Jon..." She says his name softly and it draws him towards her, though he seems hesitant to approach. "It's not as you think, it's just..."

"It's just what, Sansa?" He says with more venom than he means. Surprise changes her features and she arches a brow, a silently posed question. "You have all but ignored me! Tell me what I have done for you to avoid me all these weeks?" He's hurt in truth and Sansa blinks, realizing it with such a sudden severity that she thought she might stumble. No, she realizes it only a moment later that she's feeling faint and the stumble is quite real.

Jon sees her sink before she realizes it's even happening. "Careful, sweetheart," his voice is a whisper against her ear as his warm grip steadies her. "There you go," he murmurs as he gently places her into her bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows as she sips the ale he's given to her. "I try to talk of my feelings and you faint? Some might call that attention seeking, my love." They both share a chuckle and she's already feeling better, though she suspects it's not just the ale that makes her warm.

"Oh!" She gasps suddenly, thrusting the mug away from her. "I can't drink this." She says, sapphire eyes widening as his gaze finds hers. It only takes a momet for her to realize what she's said and only a moment longer for Jon to understand. He leaps from his place on the edge of her bed, hands going up with his shock.

"Is it true... You're... You're with child?" Jon asks slowly, gazing down at her there on her bed, those big blue eyes of hers still able to swallow him whole. She stares back up at him for what could have been an eternity before she gave a single, solemn nod. The sound he lets out is a both a cry of shock and of joy; at once he surges forward, taking her into his arms for an embrace like he's never given her before. "A babe?" He's running his hands down her body then, his palm outstretched over the flat plane of her belly. She can't help but to laugh at his expense, the joy and surprise written all over his face. The dark cloud of doubt she'd felt these last few weeks had already begun to dissipate, leaving behind a fire that raged within her very soul.

"You're happy?" She asks before she can stop herself. She needs to hear him say the words, she needs him to tell her that this is what he wants.

For a moment, he stares at her, her question catching him off guard. But then his face softens and its as if he already understands her, completely and utterly. It's only then that he catches her face between his palms, drawing her mouth to his for a soft kiss that steals her breath. "I'm happier than any man deserves." He whispers as he tips his forehead down to meet hers, his mouth so close she can feel his lips curve with his smile. "Never doubt the love I have for you," he's trailing soft, gentle kisses down her jaw, running a hand through her red hair as she tips her head back, breathing him in as her pulls her in. "Or for him." His hand strays to her stomach a few moments later and she's laughing again, though a fresh wave of tears cling to her lashes.

"Or her." She ammends, to which Jon nods. How could she have ever doubted this man?

"Or her." He agrees as her hands close over his, knowing without a doubt he was the happiest man alive.


	29. Chapter 29 - Finale Fix

When she arrives at the door to his cell, she's shaking.

The Unsullied guard gives her a single nod before he opens the door, allowing her to pass through and the door shuts behind her with a slam. Though the room is dark and damp, her eyes settle upon Jon's form there in a corner, stirring at the door slam. "Sansa?" His voice is incredulous and the moment his vocals reach her ears she's striding across the room to throw her arms around him there on the dungeon floor. "I can't believe... I can't believe you're here," his voice is soft and warm against her ear, but then he's pulling back and sliding his hands into place on either side of her face. "You shouldn't be here," he says with a shake of his head, though his dark eyes are shining as they gaze into hers. "It's not safe for you here." This is the Jon she knows, the Jon she _loves._ The one who worries more for her than himself, the one who thinks of only her safety and protection.

"You didn't truly think I would let them chain you up in a dungeon?" She asks, gesturing towards the chains she'd ensured were released just hours before. "I have brought an army of my own to ensure your release." Jon's lips, though they quiver with emotion, curve into a slow smile that takes root deep in his dark eyes. "They've called for a meeting among all the remaining heads of houses, we're just waiting on the last of them to arrive." She says as she sits back on her hunches, black skirts gathered all around her. "I will see to your release from this cell then."

"They'll never let me go, Sansa." He nods towards the door, where the Unsullied still stands guard outside. He's surprised she's managed an audience with him- but then again, no he isn't. It's so like her to arrive in a sacked city and make demands without fear. "They've taken the city."

"For now," she shrugs her shoulders as if the Unsullied mean nothing at all to her. "There will be a new King soon and I can promise you they won't allow the Unsullied to keep King's Landing."

"Sansa, I don't want-"

"I know," she cuts him off with a shake of her head, red hair slipping across a shoulder as she shifts on the ground. "No one else knows the truth, I've ensured it." She doesn't tell him how she's secured his secret, but something tells him it wasn't just with her pretty words. "But there will still be a new King and I promise you they will set you free or I will wage war the day the crown sits upon their head." Jon smiles at her ferocity and he reaches out to touch her red hair, braided in a way he's never seen before. His hand trails down to touch her cheek, to touch her lips. He's longed for a moment like this, though perhaps in a place other than a jail cell, but just to have her there before him is enough.

"I can't let you do that, you know that... Don't you?" He speaks softly as she inclines her head against his palm as it cradles her cheek. "You will return to the North and be their queen as you always should have been." She closes her eyes as a single tear falls free and Jon catches it with his thumb, erasing it from her skin. "Even if they let me go... How can I be anything but an accomplice in this atrocity?" Her blue eyes open and Jon feels his heart skip a beat. "And how could I live with myself if something happened to you because of me?" He had already done so much to ensure her protection, he had gone as far as to kill the tyrant queen before she could claim her throne. "Daenerys would have killed you and her soldiers will too, should you threaten them on my behalf."

She smiles, though its a smile he's never seen before and she again shakes her head. "If you won't let me go to war to save you... Will you let me do it another way?" She asks softly, to which Jon arches a brow, surprise falling into place upon his features. "Marry me." She says without hesitation and Jon pulls back entirely, jumping to his feet in his shock. She follows after him, skirts swirling as she moves after him as he walks across the room, his body rigid. "Jon!" She takes his arm, forcing him back around to face her, a call back to a moment many months ago when they had quarelled on the battlements. "If you marry me... If you take the name Stark... I can protect you."

Jon's mind is whirlwind. _Marry me_ , she had said, her eyes telling him she meant it. "I can't," is all he can say, his mouth hardly able to form the words as he shakes his head. "You'll always be in danger, married to me. Besides... If no one knows the truth of my birth, how can we?" It's true, only in his dreams has he believed his story would have a happy ending. Here in this moment, its there within reach, and she's the one offering it to him. His only true happiness was with her... But... No. It would only bring her misfortune, shame, and danger. He couldn't let that happen. Not to her.

"You always said you would protect me... Now let me protect you." Her words are strong and true, almost enough that he believes her. "The world will know you are not Ned Stark's bastard soon enough, but they will know you to be Lyanna Stark's bastard, no more, no less. Ned Stark loved his sister so very much that he protected her name and reputation even in death by claiming you as his own."

Now Jon understands, she's thought about everything. He can't help but to laugh, reaching for her, the feel of her in his arms surely like what the gods promised the afterlife to be. Better, even. "Have you thought of everything, my sweet?" He asks, voice muffled as he buries his face into her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of the rose water she bathed in. There it was again, that feeling of acceptance, such a thing he only ever felt when he was with her. "And if I say no?"

It's her turn to laugh and she pulls back, looking him in the eyes before she speaks. "Then I go to war." Another shrug lifts her shoulders and Jon sighs, though his lips are smiling. He's never dared to dream of happiness like this, he doesn't want to start now. But standing there, looking into her eyes, he wants to do nothing but dream. "Unless of course..." She trails off, sobering as she stares at him. "You have no wish to marry me."

"I've never wanted anything more in all my life," he admits, watching her face light up with pure, unbridled joy; it's a look he's not seen on her face since childhood. "But how? Who would marry us?" He's suprised by her yet again when she chuckles and gives a single toss of her fire touched hair, telling him it was as he'd suspected: she had thought of it all.

"I'll return with him," she says, though she's not quite thought how she might persuade the Unsullied to allow her yet another audience with Jon, this time with a guest in tow. But she would find a way, that much she knew. "I swear it to you." She turns as if she means to go, but Jon catches her hand and draws her back to him. His kiss is swift and strong, as is the grip of his arms as they slide into place around her waist. When they break apart several moments later, neither can breathe though they both are smiling. "I swear it," she says again before stepping out of his arms and out of the room, passing the Unsullied guard without even a backwards glance.

[ x x x ]

She's done as she's promised and brought with her the only person they could trust in this.

"Sam!" Jon gasps as he reaches to embrace his dear friend, shocked to see him there in his jail cell with Sansa at his side. "You did it..." He murmurs with a shake of his head as he turns to her, the smile on her face one that would always brighten the darkest of his days.

"I said I would, didn't I?" She turns to Sam then, her sapphire eyes focused on the man's face. "We haven't much time," she says before she glances at Jon. "You're certain of this...?" For a single moment, there is doubt in her mind. But he's kissing her then, a kiss so unlike their first that it sweeps her off her feet. Her doubt fades and together they turn to face Sam, who gives one single nod before he begins to speak the words she had once heard in the godswood, the words that would unify them before the Old Gods and even the New.

And so there in the middle of Jon's jail cell, they were married.

"When I come back, it will be to free you," she's whispering when it's over, tipping her forehead to meet his. "Until then..." This kiss is quick, interrupted by a harsh knock on the door, telling them their time was over. Jon holds fast to her hand a moment longer, but releases her only when the door swings open, revealing the guard who beckons for her and Sam to go.

Jon watches them go and only when the door closes does he realize he's been holding his breath.

[ x x x ]

"If you look outside the walls of _your_ city, you will find thousands of Northmen who will explain to you why harming Jon Snow is not in your best interest." Her voice is sharp and all eyes turn to her when she speaks. Grey Worm focuses his dark eyes upon her and she leans forward ever so slightly, as if daring him to speak against her. He doesn't.

"Jon Snow's fate is not for you to decide," Tyrion speaks from where he stands beside Grey Worm, his clothes tattered and chains at his wrists. "He committed his crime here, so it is for our king... Or queen, to decide." He glances up at her, but Sansa keeps her eyes on Grey Worm, who is angry but unmoving. Though his hand remains perched upon the hilt of his sword, he does not seemed inclined to swing it. Yet.

"We have no king nor a queen." It is Lord Royce who speaks and Sansa swivels her gaze to look at him, her most trusted adviser beyond Brienne who sits just a few chairs down.

Tyrion stands before them looking perplexed, as if he's already given them the answer but no one has yet grasped it. "You people are the most powerful in all of Westeros... So choose one." He watches as it dawns on most of their faces though as his gaze settles upon the three Stark children, he can't help but to smile.

For a few moments, they talk among one another, but it seems as if they have not come to a conclusion of their own. And so Tyrion speaks again. "What unites people?" He asks, glancing around from face to face. "Armies? Gold? No... It is much more than that." His steps take him towards the three Stark's, the boy at the center focusing his gaze upon him. None of them would know that Bran had told him this outcome some days ago, expressing regret that the answer had not come to him sooner. Before all of the destruction and bloodshed. "This kingdom has lived under fear and injustice for far too long. Its people needs a kind, just ruler that will care for them as she has cared for her family. It need's a ruler that will never back down to any threat, no matter the cost to herself." All eyes have turned to the young, red haired woman that Tyrion now stands before. "They will call her Sansa the Red Wolf, the Queen That Never Bent."

Though she knew this was coming, nothing could have prepared her for the moment now that it was here. It was why she had been so adament that she would save Jon, whether it be through marriage or war, though she had hoped it'd not come to the latter. Those seated all around her are exchanging glances with one another, but none speak out against Tyrion's suggestion. In fact, it's Brienne and Lord Royce on their feet first, coming to kneel before her as if she'd already been crowned. Arya is next, rising from her place beside Bran to kneel before her sister, and soon they are all there, falling to their knees before the woman they would indeed call their queen.

When they've all risen back at Sansa's insistence and returned to their seats, its Grey Worm who speaks, his anger yet to abate. "You said it was up to your king or queen to decide Jon Snow's fate, you have chosen a queen, so she shall now decide his fate." Arya and Brienne, the only two not to return to their chairs, but rather stood behind her, both put their hands to their blades.

Yet again, all eyes turn to her and Sansa takes a deep breath before she speaks. "Jon Snow will be set free immediately." Grey Worm tenses, the hand on the hilt of his sword tightening its grip. "And from now on, he will be known as Jon Stark." Even Tyrion looks up at this, shock registering on his features- now he knows what she meant earlier when she had told him she would ensure his safety, even if she did not become queen. "Jon was born of my aunt Lyanna Stark and raised as my father, Ned Stark's bastard. He was and is heir to Winterfell through my brother Robb and crowned King in the North by his people. I cannot be queen of a kingdom that already has a king." She smiles at the sea of stunned faces before she continues on. "It was just this morning that Jon and I married and from now on, we shall rule our kingdoms together... And so shall you. Let it be known, that every kingdom shall speak for itself, though queen I may be. I will make no choice without your backing, without your input." As those around her allow her words to sink in, she turns back to face Grey Worm. "If you seek peace with us, you may remain in my kingdom, but if you seek nothing but vengeance, then you will leave, never to return to this realm." The others all nodded in agreement and Grey Worm could do nothing but agree with a single, angry nod.

One by one, they choose the head of each kingdom from those sitting there; Yara in the Iron Islands, Gendry in the Stormlands, Robin Arryn in the Vale, and Quentyn Martell in Dorne. She and Jon finished out the Seven Kingdoms and just like that, a new century of ruling would begin. But now, she had more important things to worry about.

Rising from her place, she sweeps past them all, back towards the ruins of King's Landing, back towards Jon.

By the time she arrives at his cell door, the Unsullied guards have left their posts. She opens the door and finds him standing at the center of the room, turning around to face her as she comes through like a whirlwind. Her kiss tells him everything and he's laughing, crying, kissing every inch of her that he can as his arms come around her. "There's something I must tell you," she finally says when she can pull herself away from him, her blue eyes shining. Jon's brow arches in a silently posed question. "Two things, really. But you must promise not to be angry with me." She grins in spite of herself and tells him the truth. "You are King in the North, as you deserve to be." He opens his mouth as if he means to protest but she puts a finger to his lips, silencing him before he can speak. "And I am queen of the remaining six kingdoms." Jon blinks as her finger falls away from his mouth. "I know it's not what you wanted, but Jon I... I told you I would protect you. This was the only way. Please say you aren't angry!"

He's truly so stunned that at first, Jon can't find the words to respond to her. It was true, the last thing he had ever wanted was to rule over the Seven Kingdoms... But, the North was his, she had given it to him without hesitation, though it should have been hers. She took the other six from him because she knew he never wanted it, she took his burden away because that was how much she loved him. She had given him her home and her title in exchange for his, because she would have done anything for him. "I'm not angry," he says finally, shaking his head as he slips his hands into her hair. "I don't deserve you, that's certain." Her smile is radiant as she sinks into his embrace yet again, for the first time without worry of who might see, without worry of what some might say.

"It is I who doesn't deserve _you,"_ she clarifies at once, shaking her head. "You who went to war for me against Ramsay Bolton, you who went to Dragonstone for protection for the North against the Night King, you who slay a tyrant queen all because she threatened my life..." She laughs then, tilting her head back so her mouth ghosts across his. "The least I could do was give you what you always wanted... The Stark name and a real family."

Jon tugs her close and buries his face in her hair so she doesn't see the tears that well up in his eyes. "You're what I've always wanted," he admits a few moments later when he's collected himself, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "I love you, Sansa." Tears pool in her eyes but she takes a deep, steadying breath before returning his words with a beautiful smile. "My queen," he says, the words having a meaning to them they never had before. A chill races her spine at his words and she takes his arm when he offers it to her.

Together they walk up from the dungeons and through the crumbling doorway that once led to the throne room. Gone was the Iron Throne, a stain of melted iron all that was left behind among the ashes. Those who had proclaimed her queen just an hour before stand there, gathered together at the base of the dais. They all turn at the sound of their footsteps and one by one, they fall to their knees as their queen and her king walk by and up the steps towards where the throne would have stood.

And in that moment, everything would begin to change; finally, happiness was not just a fleeting dream, but something real, something tangible. Her dream of spring had always been Jon and finally, she would not wake to misery and fear. She would wake to his face and his kisses and his love. She would wake to true happiness every day for the rest of her life.


	30. Chapter 30

When she's alone, her mind begins to spin.

Nightmares plague her when she's awake as often as they do when she sleeps- which is little, these days. Though she has left Ramsay Bolton behind, she can still yet feel his hands upon her, bruising, grasping, breaking. Though she's left Winterfell behind, she can still feel the walls closing in around her, the solid thump of her body when he tossed her to the ground. Every piece of her is imprinted with him and all of the others too. She still dreams of her father and the way his head bounced when it was cut from his neck. And when she dreams of Lady, it's sweet and soft until she's ripped from her grasp, a howl ringing in her ears long after she wakes. She dreams of Robb come to save her from King's Landing, but he's bloody and black, Grey Wind's head sewn crudely in place of his own. And there's her mother too, neck cut to the bone, her Tully blue eyes wide as she screams her name. Arya comes to her as well, the little sister she has never treated right, the little sister she would give anything to see once more. The little siblings she had once loved so dearly are gone from her. Everything is gone from her, everything but Jon.

Once, she had thought death would be her only solace, her only way to end her nightmares. But then, she had found Jon. _Stone by stone, we've built something together,_ she thinks as she stares out into the swirling winter snow, settled into the window of her rooms. She can't remember the last time she slept soundly- she fears sleep, now, for that was when her nightmares became worse than any when she was awake. Jon had ignited a fire within her again, the fire to be brave, to fight back.

But she wasn't so brave, not like him, not like Robb. Even Arya was braver than she ever could be. And so she strays from sleep, she strays from the darkness in her heart by focusing upon destroying Ramsay Bolton and taking back their home. Winterfell was not yet tainted by the abuse she had suffered within its walls- she was stronger there, she told herself often, she was the blood of Winterfell, the daughter of the North. She could be brave if Jon was next to her.

 _Jon..._ She thinks of him, asleep in the rooms beside her own, and she finds herself rising from the window seat. Does he sleep easy? Or is he too plagued with the nightmarish images of the life he had lived these last few years? She recalls their second day together, already weeks ago, when they had talked for hours about the night his own brothers had murdered him. _You've given me purpose again,_ he had told her in his raspy voice, his dark eyes hardened with grief, but with a gleam she'd never before seen.

Though she knows it's improper, Sansa slips from her rooms and opens the door to his, closing herself into the darkness of his chamber.

He's awake the moment the door opens; he's so attuned to her that he knows it's her as she pads across the floorboards to stand at his bedside. "Sansa," he whispers into the dark, peering up at her as her blue eyes shine with the reflection of the dying embers of the fire in his hearth. There is no need for words between them and so Jon wordlessly pulls back the fur covers of his bed, warmed by his own body, and allows her to slide beneath them. "Can't sleep?" His voice breaks up her wild thoughts, calming them. Jon is her comfort, her safe place.

It's all he can do to keep himself from reaching for her.

"I never sleep, not anymore..." she whispers back, her honesty tugging at his heart in the most awful of ways. He imagines her, late at night in her rooms, struggling to find her footing. He imagines her, broken and beaten beneath a man's hand in the place she had once called home. Anger surges through him, as it always does when he thinks of her and Ramsay, of all that had been done to her. He thinks of her pale, tired features that smile upon him every morning still. She is a ghost, as is he.

"Dreams can't hurt you here," he says as he raises an arm, indicating for her to slip into his grasp, if she so desired. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her more pain. But a moment later she's turning onto her other side and scooting back until Jon can slide his arms around her still too thin frame. He holds hers as tightly as he dares, his mouth at her ear as he whispers a story from their childhood, one of Aemon the Dragonknight that they had heard hundreds of times growing up.

He knows she sleeps long before he finishes and he leans over her just enough to brush a kiss to her temple, smoothing back a stray strand of fiery red hair. And then he settles down beside her, comforted by the warmth of her body against his through her white nightgown.

For the first time in what very well could have been an entire lifetime, they sleep soundly. They dream dreams of light and joy, of days long behind them but that bring happiness. They dream of a lover's touch, Jon a redheaded girl and Sansa a wild haired, dark eyed boy.

And no dreams have ever been so sweet.


	31. Chapter 31 - Jimsa

When the queen stepped into her court with a swelling belly on display, her people could do little but cheer for her good health and the future of their kingdom. After all the North had been through, their young unmarried queen having a baby out of wedlock was the least of their worries. In truth, they were overjoyed that their beloved queen was finally happy. Besides, it was well known who the father would be, though the queen would often remark her child was sired by the wolves, and none could be displeased with her choice.

She settled upon her throne and held her head high as the double doors opened, revealing her latest visitor. Tyrion Lannister had written some time ago to tell her he wished to make a goodwill visit to the North on behalf of her brother, King Bran, who sat upon the throne in Westeros. As Tyrion approached, he too noticed the swell of the queen's belly beneath her dark green gown. "Your grace," he bowed low before her throne, raising himself only when she spoke a greeting. "You look… Well." He said, trying to choose his words as carefully as possible, recalling the young queen's quick wit and temperament. He would regret dearly upsetting such a woman, especially in her condition.

Sansa can't help but to laugh, her smile easy going as she leaned forward on her throne. "Thank you, my lord. I welcome you to Winterfell." She is as he remembered- charming, beautiful, her mid stage of pregnancy offering her a radiant glow Tyrion had never before seen in a woman. It gave her an ethereal look, in truth. "I hope your journey was not difficult, now that spring has come, I imagine the roads must be easy to pass." Spring had shown its face some months ago, the very same day she had first woke to the morning sickness of the same child she carried.

"Indeed, your grace, my journey was quite enjoyable." Tyrion responded, already enjoying this queen, finding her far more agreeable than the last he served. Though he was Hand to her brother, Tyrion found himself loyal to House Stark overall, and so he would serve this young woman as much as he served her brother. There was much to discuss with her and her lords, but he found he was much more curious about her growing belly than state politics. Though here in her court was the last place to speak so freely.

"I have had chambers prepared for you," Sansa says, her voice bringing him back from his own mind. "I'm sure you want to rest. I will have food sent to your rooms. Tomorrow, we can meet again, there is much to discuss between us." Her words are final and her smile dismissive, though her sapphire eyes are gleaming as she looked down upon him.

"Thank you, your grace," he replied before rising back to his full height and with a wave of her hand, he turned to walk back towards the doors he'd come in through. He paused for only a moment to glance back, surprised to see that Sansa had already risen from her throne, ducking out of the great hall on the arm of a dark haired man. A very familiar dark haired man, at that. _Impossible,_ Tyrion thought before he pushed out the doors, though he was smirking as he shook his head. _Though, perhaps not impossible at all._

[ x x x ]

"Might I ask a question?"

Lord Royce paused in his exit from his chambers, turning back to face the Lannister man with a nod. "Your queen... She is with child, but she's unmarried." Lord Royce does not respond but his expression is rather stony, which Tyrion at once can tell his directed at _him_ and not the fact the queen is carrying a bastard. "And I have this strange notion that I saw Jon Snow leaving with her just moments ago, though he is banished to Castle Black."

"Jon Snow? Here, at Winterfell? Preposterous." Lord Royce says, shaking his head. "You must mean Jim Frost."

Tyrion doesn't know if he's being made fun of, but from the look on the Lord's face, he is quite serious. "Jim... Frost?" _Really?_

"Yes, he is the emissary for the Night's Watch, you see." Tyrion could swear the lord's lip twitched with a smile. "Jim has sworn fealty to our queen and he remains here at Winterfell, though he makes a monthly trip back to Castle Black."

Though he wanted to ask more, Lord Royce bids him a good night and now all Tyrion can do is ask the woman herself.

[ x x x ]

It took only a few short hours for the two of them to come to terms on a few things- namely trade between their two kingdoms. Securing peace between nations had been the utmost importance since Bran took the throne of the remaining six kingdoms and it had begun by the oldest practice in the book: weddings. Sansa had already agreed to wed Alys Karstark to one of Bran's own lord's oldest sons, the union already agreed on by the pair themselves. There had been talk of Sansa marrying the young Prince of Dorne, though such a thing was certainly out of the question now, though peace would not suffer for it. The Prince of Dorne would have a bride and someday, perhaps he would have a son or daughter to wed Sansa's own, should the gods wish it so.

"You know..." Tyrion's voice brings her from her own thoughts and she looked up at him, sitting across from her with a goblet of wine in hand. "I've been wanting to ask you..." Sansa chuckled at his expense, noting his uncomfortable expression. "About the... Father of your child."

 _Ah,_ she thought with a smile, leaning back to press a hand against the curve of her belly. "It is a child of the wolves," she spoke cryptically, reminding him of the king he'd left behind in King's Landing. "A new young, white wolf to someday rule the North when I am gone." She could already feel in her bones that this child would be a boy, a son with the Stark look, a son she would name Robb after the brother she had lost.

Tyrion took a long sip from his goblet before speaking on. "Yes, well... I have seen a familiar face among your court." Sansa arched a brow at his statement, but her rosy lips are still yet curved into a smile as she looked back at him, nodding for him to go on. "I am quite certain I saw Jon Snow on your arm just yesterday."

Sansa supposed she should have known he would find them out at once- this was Tyrion Lannister after all. And well, she and Jon had not been hiding so well now that her pregnancy was too far advanced to hide from the public. Her lords had long suspected her relationship with Jon since the first day he had returned to Winterfell, some six months after his banishment to Castle Black. "Jon Snow is at Castle Black." She spoke with that same smile, tilting her head, red hair cascading over her shoulder. "You must mean Jim."

"Jim Frost? Lord Royce mentioned him."

When the young woman laughed, Tyrion knew he was being fooled. "Indeed, Jim Frost." Her blue eyes gleamed as she settled back against her chair, hands pressed against the curve of her belly. "I don't blame you for mistaking him for Jon- he is as dark haired as any Stark, but I assure you he isn't Jon." When her gaze settled upon him, Tyrion knew the conversation was over.

And he also knew one other thing... Jon Snow was certainly the father of the queen's baby.

[ x x x ]

It was as he climbed into the carriage to leave, having said his goodbyes to the queen and her court, that Tyrion turned and saw them. Sansa was leaning on his arm, her red head tipped against his, laughing at something he was saying. As if feeling his gaze upon them, both she and the man turned for one last look, and that was when Tyrion caught sight of the man's face. Jon Snow raised his hand in a wave and Sansa smiled at him from where she stood, but then they both turned back and went on their way, leaving Tyrion to climb inside with a smirk on his face. _Jim Frost, indeed._

When he arrived back to King's Landing and reported back to Bran, the first thing the king asked was about his sister. "She is pregnant, is she not?" Bran asked as Tyrion poured himself a goblet of wine, his tone implying he already knew the answer to his own question.

"She is." Tyrion replied as he settled into his usual chair at the table.

"And it is Jon's?"

Tyrion can't help but to laugh. "She says the child was sired by wolves, though she hangs upon the arm of a man that looks remarkably like Jon Snow." Bran blinked and shook his head, the look upon his face that of amusement. "They call him Jim Frost as if no one knows." It is Bran who laughed then, a sound unfamiliar to Tyrion- the usually stoic king rarely even smiled, let alone laughed. "They care so much for your sister that I think they would call him a horse if she asked."

"It would seem a pardon for Jon Snow is in order." Bran gestured for a piece of parchment, which Tyrion slid to him but a moment later. "I think he has been punished long enough, don't you?" Tyrion gave a single nod and watched as Bran leaned over the parchment, his handwriting scrawling across several lines before he looked up again. "See to a wedding gift." Is all he says before sliding the now folded and sealed parchment back to Tyrion, who gives another nod. He got up and crossed the room, to the window where a single raven sat waiting and he tied the scroll to its leg, watching as it soared out into the blue sky.

[ x x x ]

No one was surprised when just a month later, a raven arrived announcing the marriage between the Queen in the North and Jon Snow, now Jon Stark, the new King in the North. Even less surprising was when two months into their marriage another raven arrived to announce the birth of the North's crown prince, already called the Young White Wolf by his people. It was rumored for all of his life that the prince had been born of the wolves, just as his mother had always said, though others would gossip about a supposed wildling lover the queen had before marrying her king. A wildling named Jim Frost.


	32. Chapter 32 - Twins

Children's laughter floated along the wind as two boys ran by, one with dark curls, the other with a twinge of Tully red. "Robb! Ned!" It was Jon who called out and the little ones raced towards their parents, the smaller of the two giving one last tongue wag at his brother. "Your uncle will be here any minute and this is how you wish to greet him?" Both boys tip their heads back, looking up into their father's eyes; beside him, holding their youngest child, Sansa sighs as she takes in the sight of them. There's no time to change them, though she supposes Bran expects to see them this way. Jon opens his mouth to speak but there comes a cry from the watch tower and the gate begins to open.

The family turns as the first pair of horses rides through, each carrying the Stark sigil banners, with a large carriage coming close behind. When the door opens, a ramp come down, and Sansa sucks in a breath as Bran comes down in his wheel chair. He stops before them, a light smile upon his face as his sister shifts the babe in her arms into Jon's instead so she can throw her arms around the brother she'd so dearly missed. Though they wrote each other often, it had been a long five years since they'd last saw one another. "Sansa," he greets when she stands upright, a teary smile on her face. She was as beautiful as ever- motherhood agreed with her, that was for certain. "Jon." He turns to look at the man he still yet called brother. Jon looks happy, happier than he could ever remember him looking in all his life.

It's then that he turns to face the three children that stand just behind their parents, the small girl clinging to her mother's skirts. "Hello children." Bran greets them with a smile, amusement rushing through him when the oldest boy steps up, not a trace of fear in his young face.

Robb was born not even a year into their marriage and already he was called the Young White Wolf, named for the uncle he would never know. He's tall for his age and thin, like a willow tree, like Sansa. The boy is every inch a Stark, every inch his father's child. His dark eyes are wise beyond his near five years though the smile that flashes is easy going. Bran recalls the dream he'd had of this child, a dream of a shining future for the heir to the North. Beside Robb a smaller boy stands and Bran knows this must be Ned, named for the grandfather lost many years ago. Ned had been born barely a year after Robb and it would seem fate would keep the brother's close for all of their lives. He is small boned, reminding him much of Arya, and he smiles as he thinks of his sister. This child's brown curls are tinted with Tully red and his eyes are the very same shade of blue as Sansa's. His smile is a bit more reserved than his big brother's but his eyes shimmer as they raise to meet Bran's gaze.

He turns to the third child, a little beauty that is a perfect copy of her mother, though her hair is dark as Jon's. Lyanna was but two years old now and Bran felt the sensation of a vision rushing through him. It was gone before he could truly see it and so he smiled upon her and the child giggled, releasing her mother's skirts so she could come closer to where Bran sat. _A touch of wild in her,_ Bran thought, recalling the words his father had said of her namesake and the aunt she already had begun to idolize. _But this one will be happy._ Unlike her grandmother, dead far too young, this child would live happily. The youngest child, another girl, now snoozes in Jon's arms, and he can see that she too looks like Sansa, the only of the children to have the true Tully hair. He's not seen anything for this child, though she's small, not even a year old yet, and Bran suspects she too will have a life to be proud of.

Sansa opens her mouth as if she means to speak but Bran looks up at her, blinking with a sudden realization. "This is all of your children?" He frowns, shaking his head. "Where are the other ones?"

Now it's Sansa's turn to blink in her confusion, a brow shooting up in surprise. "These are all of our children, Bran." Neither parent realizes that the two boys have darted off again, this time with Lyanna in tow, her wobbling legs not able to keep up pace with her big brothers and she cries for them to wait for her.

"Where are the twins?" Bran asks, certain he knew there should have been two additional children for his viewing. But that's when he realized, and so did they, that the children he spoke of had not yet been born.

"You mean there's going to be _more_ of them?" Jon asks, his voice betraying his surprise as he turns to look at Sansa, who's helplessly smiling at this news. "More?" Were four not enough? Robb alone was enough to make up the noise and trouble of two kids and Lyanna was not going to be far behind her oldest brother. To think of two more...? But then he chuckled as he looked down at the sleeping face of his youngest daughter and then up to at the trio that now played across the courtyard, their voices carrying along the wind, bringing a smile to his face. After being alone for so very long, neither he or Sansa would be truly upset over the possibility of more children. In fact... He loved his family so dearly, he'd be happy with as many more as Sansa wished to bear.

And so he slings his free arm around Sansa and together they lead Bran towards Winterfell, back to home.

[ x x x ]

The following summer, the twins are born one early morning.

The boy they name Benjen and the girl Alysanne. Much like their older siblings, they form perfect combinations of their parents, but when the twins open their eyes, there is no denying the touch of Targaryen in them both for both infants have eyes of violet-blue.

When the raven comes to King's Landing, Bran smiles, recalling the dream he'd had only the night before- of six Stark children playing in the godswood with a pack of wolves in the winter snow. It would be as his father always said, it seemed. _When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._


	33. Chapter 33 - After Theon

Her heart is so very heavy.

She spends what feels like a lifetime sewing wounds and cleaning burns; the stench of burning flesh is imprinted upon her, a scent she will not soon forget. Sewing bleeding wounds is quite like sewing silk, though she prefers the fabrics that do not cry out with every touch of her needle. She spends hours ensuring the survivors are fixed and fed and warm. She does not stop until the last person is looked over and even then, it is not to her rooms that she goes, but into a room where a single body is laid out on the table.

Theon is still and cold, as she knows he would be. Her heart aches with renewed pain as she approaches his side, her hand reaching out to tenderly touch his cheek. _I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa... If you'll have me._ Those had been the words he said to her. He had not said _I want to die for Winterfell,_ he had said he wanted to _fight._ But he had died and left her there alone.

And though she wants to do nothing but drop into a chair or even a bed and close her eyes, she moves across the room to grab the pot that hangs in the hearth. She takes hold of it and steps back out into the cold, biting air, filling it until she can no more with snow. And then she returns it to the hearth, kneeling down to strike the old embers with flint until they catch and a fire burns to life before her eyes. When the snow has turned to hot water, she pours a pitcher full of it and returns to the table where Theon lays.

In silence, she begins to undress him one limb at a time, until he is naked besides a modesty covering. And then she begins to clean him of the blood and the grime of war. When she's finished, she redresses him and only then... Only then does she sink into the chair that sits beside the table, unaware of just how many hours have passed since she had first walked up from the crypts after the end of the battle.

That is where Jon finds her only a short while later.

He had been sent to a room to rest, his injuries treated and a sleeping draught given, and when he'd woke his first thought had been of her. And so he had gone off to find her, knowing he had last seen her among the surviving soldiers, painstakingly sewing closed a man's wound. But now she is in a spare room, seated beside the table where Theon lays. He's quiet in his approach, so quiet that she does not look up until he's beside her. "Jon..." Her voice is a thread. "You're supposed to be resting."

Jon takes this moment to drink in the sight of her; she's pale and looks like she might drop at any moment from exhaustion, but she's alive. She's alive. His eyes flicker from her to Theon and he takes note of his clean, bathed body, and he knows she's done this for him. "Sansa..." He speaks her name as his gaze swivels back to her face. Tears are gathering in her eyes for the first time and he knows it's taking every ounce of her self control to keep from falling apart. So he reaches for her, pulling her to her feet and straight into his embrace. Her every sob breaks his heart, knowing that Theon had been important to her. They had suffered together, they had escaped together, they had overcame together. And now, he was gone, taking with him a piece of her.

She cries until she can cry no more, until whatever little bit of energy was left in her body dissipates. Jon feels her sagging against him and though he is battered from war, he lifts her into his arms despite her protests. "Let me take care of you," he whispers as he carries her towards the door, uncaring of who might see them. She falls silent, her head resting against his strong, warm shoulder, her weight nothing in his grip. He carries her down the hall and into the room he had been occupying only a short time before. Into the bed he'd once slept in does he place her, thanking the universe that he has her to still hold onto, that he can still worry over her because that means she's alive. She struggles up, as if she means to get up, but he gently pushes her back against his pillow. "Rest," he murmurs softly, his hand moving from her shoulder to gently touch her cheek. Her sapphire eyes meet his and for a single moment, they understand one another perfectly.

And it's only then that she sinks back against the pillow and closes her eyes. Jon knows she's asleep a few moments later and relief rushes through him. He cannot imagine what grief she must feel- not just for Theon, but for witnessing her ancestors, her _family_ rising from their graves and claiming lives. He had sent her and the others down to the crypts for their own safety, but had nearly sent them all to their deaths. Jon cannot stop himself from reaching out his hand, brushing a lock of red hair from her face. He swallows and pulls back, instead focusing upon ensuring she was covered well by the fur lined blanket on the bed. She was safe and she was warm... And that was all he could ask for.

It was all he could be thankful for.


	34. Chapter 34 - Don't Go

Warmth was looking at her, bathed in moonlight spilling in through his open curtains. Love was the soft touch of her lips to his, or the gentle grip of her hand in his. Love was knowing she had changed him, heart and soul. She had come to him when he was ready to give in, when he was ready to turn his back to everything he had ever known and loved. He may have been resurrected by the red witch, but it had been Sansa to bring him back to life. She was the one who taught him to feel once more, she was the one to remind him that there was still something yet to live for. He couldn't quite say when things changed, but one day... One day he felt something new for her that nothing could ever make him deny.

"I don't want you to go," her voice draws him back from his mind and Jon leans over her, laying there beside him in his bed. Her blue eyes peer up at him, seeing straight through him as they always did. "Stay with me."

Without a word, Jon moves down to kiss her, one hand slipping beneath the covers to press against her chest, to feel her heart beat into his palm. "You know I have to go," he says softly when he draws back, hating himself for the tears that fill her beautiful eyes. "I will do whatever it takes to protect the North... To protect you." It was true, the North was Sansa and Sansa was the North. They were one and the same. With her, he found safety, with her he had found his home.

"I'm afraid for you," she whispers against his chest a moment later, when he's laid down beside her and opened his arms to her. "I keep dreaming of dragon fire." She's afraid that when he leaves for Dragonstone in the morning, he won't return to her. Sansa knows what this alliance with Daenerys Targaryen will do for them, for the North, but she can't help but want to be selfish and keep Jon there with her. Thinking of him sailing away from her, to a foreign queen's castle, a queen rumored to be on the wrong side of the Targaryen coin... It frightened her.

"I swear to you I will return." Jon vows in the darkness. "I will come home and I will defeat the Night King. I will keep you and our home safe." He presses his lips to her temple, to her cheek, down her jaw... Unti finally they fall upon her lips, a soft kiss he hopes says more than his words ever would. "And when it's all over... I want to be at your side. For the rest of my life, I want to stand beside you." A tear slips free from her closed eyes and Jon catches it with his mouth, kissing away any evidence of it. "Believe in me."

She nods, of course she believes in him. She always would. Her belief in him was unwavering, even in the darkest of moments. Even when they were at the end of their rope, Sansa would go on believing in him. "At least... Stay tonight." She means for him to stay there in bed with her, if only for one last night.

To that he would always oblige.

"There's no where else I'd want to be."


	35. Chapter 35 - Help Undressing

He struggles to pull his arm from his sleeve, flinching at every movement his aching body is forced to participate in. There's nothing more that he wants than to fling himself into his bed, clothes and all, but they are dirty disgusting clothes that need tossed into a fire rather than washed and mended. He's somehow freed himself of his tattered leather jerkin but his shirt is proving much more difficult. Jon grunts as he manages to slip his arm free from the sleeve, but it's then that he feels soft, but warm hands against his skin, catching him by the forearm and steadying his damaged limb. "Sansa..." Her name is upon his lips as he shifts ever so slightly, dark eyes focusing upon her profile.

"Let me help you," her voice is barely even a whisper as she raises her eyes to meet his, rosy lips curving with the quickest of smiles. Jon blinks but then he gives in with a nod, needing little convincing to allow her to take control of the moment. They don't speak as she tugs his battered shirt over his head and then guides him towards the chair that sits beside the fire, forcing him into it with a mere glance. _You should be down there,_ he thinks as she touches his cheek, his shoulder, his arm, every place that he bled from. _You should be with them._ He's thinking of their two siblings but then again, they were not quite his siblings now, were they? He recalls the state Arya had been in when he'd left her side just minutes before. "You're a mess," she murmurs with a shake of her head before she turns to the table where she's set down what he recognizes as her sewing basket. From within she fishes a needle and a spool of ink black thread. "Here," she pushes a mug of ale into his hands. "Drink." Jon opens his mouth to protest, but yet another glance is all it takes for him to put the glass to his lips.

She murmurs something like an apology before plunging the needle into the first wound- one to his forearm that he'd been given early inot the battle. As she sews closed his every wound, they talk softly- Sansa tells him about below in the crypts, about how she had to watch as Rickon's animated corpse claimed two children before she managed to plunge the dagger Arya had given her into his shoulder, killing him for a second time. Jon tells her of the fear he felt standing in front of Viserion, though he spares her the details of what the battlefield had looked like. She talks of the other wounds she's sewn closed that night, of the men who had lost limbs and some their very lives as she tried her best to help save them. He promises her to ensure Theon is honored for the rest of time, a hero never to be forgotten by time. She tells him she caught Arya and Gendry kissing and Jon chokes on his ale, suddenly quite the big brother he had always been to the youngest Stark girl.

When she's finished tending to his wounds, Sansa looks up at him from where she now kneels at his feet. She says nothing as her nimble fingers unlace his boots, tugging them from his feet before he can protest. When he opens his mouth, she gives her head a shake. "You need to rest," she says, rising up to brush off her skirts, red hair falling free from its usually neat braids. "Come on then," she offers him a hand, smiling when he almost hesitantly reaches for her. But the moment her hand is around his, warmth spreads through him like wild fire and he can't bring himself to let her go. "Let me help you..." She says for the second time that night, her voice so very soft that Jon has to wonder if he's only imagined her speaking. He nods.

She draws him towards the center of the room and turns to face him, breath catching in her throat, heart threatening to burst from her chest as her hands reach for him. Swallowing against the fear in her heart, Sansa's hands touch the laces at the front of his breeches. Her movements are painfully slow and Jon can feel his heart racing in his chest, knowing he had wanted a moment like this for longer than he could remember now. He can't stop himself from watching her face- lip caught between teeth, sapphire eyes raising once to meet his steady gaze. She smiles and it's like staring into the sun. It takes only a minute more for her to help him from those breeches and into another pair, ones so old he could have sworn her mother had sewn them. It's as her hands finish lacing those into place on his hips that Jon reaches down, covering her hand with his. Jon isn't sure what makes him do what he does next, he just knows it's the only moment that this has ever felt right.

He kisses her.

At first she stiffens, not from fear but surprise, and it takes only a moment for her to yield to his kiss. Jon wraps her in his arms, hyper aware of the warmth of her skin through her every layer, even more aware of just how perfectly she fit against him. "Took you long enough," she breathes when he's pulled back a few moments later, eliciting a laugh from him, a sound she had not heard since his return from Dragonstone. He tips his forehead against hers, arms still yet slung around her waist as their lips meet again, albeit briefly. "You still must rest," she whispers and again Jon chuckles, trailing his hands up her body to slide into her hair.

"Only if you stay with me." He insists and to that she nods, allowing him to guide her towards his best. "No, get in," he says softly when she tries to grab the chair to draw up to the bedside. "Please," he looks up into her clear blue eyes and it's as if she can see straight into his heart, his soul. Her smile is soft and warm when she nods, sitting down on the edge of his bed so she can pull her own boots off. And then she slides beneath the fur covers, nuzzling as close to him as she dared. It is Jon who reaches for her, drawing her closer still, his face buried into the crook of her neck while one arm is flung across her hip. She feels safe.

Safer than she's ever felt before.


	36. Chapter 36

When she thinks about Theon, it hurts.

The pain steals the breath from her lungs, it douses her in ice. She spends the long hours after the battle among the survivors- she stitches wounds, she cleans burns. She does anything that she can to keep him from her mind- but he always drifts back. It isn't until Lord Royce touches her arm and tells her to go rest that she realizes the sun has been up for several hours now.

And so she walks the crumbling halls of Winterfell, knowing the home she had only so recently gotten back was nearly destroyed. It would take months of rebuilding to bring Winterfell back to its glory. She recalls walking these same halls back when Ramsay had lived- the chambers he had kept her in were destroyed now and she was thankful for it. Those rooms she had not returned to since taking Winterfell back with Jon.

 _Jon..._ She thinks of him as often as she does Theon, though with a much happier state of mind. Jon lived through the battle and though injured, he would be well enough to rise from his bed later that day. The same went for Arya, for Brienne. And for that she was so very thankful.

Though she had promised Lord Royce she would go to her chamber to rest, Sansa found herself climbing the stairs to the floor above that still yet remained in tact. Up there in a hall to the east was a hidden door that opened up onto the battlements. Well, what remained of them, anyways. She needed just a moment in the snow; a cold moment of solitude that would clear her mind before she did indeed try and rest. But as she stepped out into the afternoon sun, she found she was not the only one who needed a moment to himself out there on the battlements.

He turns to her as she approaches, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. It's a _I'm so happy to see you_ sort of smile, it's a _I'm so thankful you're alive_ sort of smile. One that she feels in the deepest corners of her soul. Without a single word, they understand each other. Sansa comes to stand beside him, their shoulders just barely brushing as they look out over the courtyard of their home. By now, it's begun to empty out- beds have been found for those too injured to be moved, while those with lesser wounds have been taken in wagons to Wintertown for care. Their own family members are inside somewhere, warm and tucked into bed, safe. Alive. "I'm sorry," Jon finally says and Sansa turns to look at him, brow arching with her silently posed question. "About Theon."

The world stops turning for just a moment and Sansa steadies herself upon the railing of the battlement. "He died a hero," is all she can say in response, blue eyes closing as she fights against the rising wave of tears. She won't cry. Not again.

It's a moment later that she feels Jon hand upon her arm. She turns back to him and Jon tilts his head as that same hand rises up to tenderly touch her cheek. "He did," Jon nods, knowing well that Theon had died to protect Bran. And he'd have died to protect Sansa, now and back then. What he'd done for Sansa alone had been all that kept him from killing him with his own two hands. What he'd done for Bran had merely cemented Jon's opinion of Theon. "I have something for you." He then says, reaching into his pocket for something. He extends out his hand and into her gloved palm he drops a direwolf pin. "It was found down in the crypts." It could have come from any one of the Stark graves down below and Jon thought it most fitting to give to the Lady of Winterfell.

Sansa clutches the pin tightly in her hand and for the first time in what felt like years, she smiles.

[ x x x ]

The following morning, she leans over Theon's body, wishing it had not come to this.

All around her, they are mourning their lost comrades. Sansa can't bring herself to leave him, not yet... Not yet. After all that had happened, after all that they had been through... Theon had left her alone. They had survived the worst of men, making it out from Ramsay Bolton with each other's help. She would never forget the day she first saw "Reek" and the feeling of red hot anger that had surged through her then. Anger at him for she still yet believed him to be guilty of murdering Bran and Rickon. But anger at Ramsay too, for destroying the once proud and arrogant Theon Greyjoy. It had not taken long for her to know the truth and that anger turned to sorrow, to pity. But then Ramsay began to hurt her and her pity turned to understanding.

Back then, all they'd had was each other. When everything was falling apart, they only had each other. And when she needed the courage to escape, to keep on living, Theon had given it to her. He would have died that day to keep her from going back with Ramsay's soldiers. He would have died in the godswood for her or for Bran or Arya or even Jon. Theon Greyjoy was as much a Stark as any of the rest of them.

All he had ever wanted was to belong to the family he'd been forced to become part of. All he had ever wanted was to be loved and respected as much as Robb. To have Ned Stark call him son, as he called all the others. Sansa reaches up for the silver direwolf pin Jon had given her the day before, pinned over her heart just that morning. _Goodbye, Theon,_ she thinks as she slides the pin into place in the leather of his jerkin. For one last time, she smooths back his hair and then steps away to listen as Jon begins to speak.

When Jon has finished, she takes a torch from a man in Stark livery and returns to stand beside Theon's body. She takes a deep breath and touches the burning flame to the straw, taking a step back as the flame begins to take root. It grows bigger and bigger until she must take several more steps back, the flames overtaking Theon's body. She watches in silence as the flames consume him and all of the others, too; one by one, they say goodbye to their friends, their family.

It isn't until she feels the touch to her arm that she turns away. Jon is there yet again, reaching for her before all those standing there. He takes her into his embrace and Sansa loses track of how long they stand there together. But finally, Jon tugs her gently away from the funeral pyres and towards Winterfell, towards home.


	37. Chapter 37

She can't look away from the sight of Jon kneeling on the ground, leaning over Ramsay who lay on his back in the dirt. Jon draws his arm back, his hand that touches her cheek so gently each night curls into a fist as he lays the first punch. Then it's another. And another. Over and over again, Sansa watches as Jon bloodies both his knuckles and Ramsay's once smirking face. She believes he will kill him and her heart flutters; part of her wants him to do it, to end that monster's life as he deserved. And yet... Part of her wanted it for herself.

And then, he stops.

As if he can feel her eyes upon him, Jon pauses with his arm pulled back, fully prepared to throw another punch. But the moment his eyes fall upon her face, he steadies himself, feeling as if the world has suddenly become clear once again. _Sansa_ , her name is a whirlwind in his mind, his heart beating wildly within his chest. She takes a single step forward, as if she means to come to him, but he doesn't want her near. He would not allow Ramsay the satisfaction of seeing her face ever again, even in a moment like this. And so he rises up to his feet, realizing only then just how much his knees have begun to wobble. He's tired, so very tired, and all that keeps him going is her standing there, just out of his reach.

It's as he stumbles that she's there to steady him, there to catch him. Jon leans into her, raising his face to hers, drinking in the sight of her porcelain features, of her perfect blue eyes. How was it he ever went a moment without her? "Take him in chains," Jon commands to the nearest soldiers, two men in Mormont livery that jump to do as he's bid them. He then swivels his gaze back to her; she's pale and shivering, but she puts on a brave sort of smile when their eyes meet. "I told you I would protect you," he says softly and her smile widens, lids sweeping over blue eyes as tears gather upon her lashes. Her hand that rests on his elbow slides down and takes him by the hand, warm and small in his own.

In this moment, she's forgotten Ramsay entirely, she's not even spared him a glance when he's dragged away by the soldiers. "I'll never doubt you again," her voice is a thread and Jon squeezes her hand in response. "Come on, let me clean you up." Her voice is stronger this time and Jon nods, allowing her to draw him away from the courtyard and back towards Winterfell.

Back towards home.


	38. Chapter 38 - Runaway With Me

_No one can protect anyone._

Her words are a constant echo in his mind; around and around they go, a never ending reminder of all that was at stake. Tomorrow there would be a battle, a battle he vows to win if only to keep her from harm. Though Sansa might have said there was no one to protect her, he would prove her wrong. He would make her see that he was not like everyone else in her life that had let her down. He would make her see that there was still someone left who loved her, who would fight for her, who would die for her. It was as he had told the red priestess, should he die upon the battlefield that next morning, so be it. He would not live without Sansa, he would not live knowing he had failed her.

The inky black sky above him glitters with stars, the moon's soft white glow filling him with a gentle warmth that reminds him of her. As always, she's there on his mind, never straying far from his thoughts. He thinks of her soft, but wary smile, wishing to see it shine like the sun that sleeps beyond the horizon. He thinks of her fire kissed hair, slipping like silk between his fingers when she curls into his embrace. He thinks of the way her breath catches in her throat when she's upset with him and he realizes he can tell the exact moment her heart must begin to race. He loves that. When had he begun to love that so very much?

He's walking through the tents of his soldiers, his small but stable army that is quite the ragtag group of men. Tormund and a few men finally sleep around a fire, bottles of ale littered around their frames. Jon can't help but to smile at the sight, though he shakes his head when his foot kicks one of the bottles that still remains half full. So long as they were battle ready the next morning, Jon cared little for how they spent their nights. With a few exceptions, Tormund had become one of his most trusted companions, he would always believe in the wildling.

Jon knows well that he himself should sleep, but his feet do not take him towards his own tent, but rather towards hers. It's so late into the evening, he knows she must be sleeping so he means only to peak in at her, to ensure she's alright after their slight argument earlier that evening. As he approaches her tent, he notices the candle that still yet burns within, the flicker of light peeking through the slight gap at the front of the tent. He pauses only a moment before he slides his hand into the gap and tugs the flap apart, thinking that she'd gone to sleep with a candle still yet burning. But, to his surprise, she remains awake. She's wrapped in her furs with Ghost at her feet, settled into a chair beside a small table. Ghost lifts his head from his paws as she turns, surprised to see him there so late into the night. "Jon... Is everything alright?" Her first instinct is that something has happened, that there is danger brewing outside her tent. But Jon nods his head and smiles, taking a few steps inside of the tent, leaving the wind to howl outside. Her sapphire eyes are tired, her skin stripped of its color leaving her looking pale and weary. But her features flood with relief at the sight of his nod, of his smile, and she reaches down to absently pat Ghost who's head now rests upon her lap. "Shouldn't you be resting?" She asks then, gesturing for him to sit if he liked, which he did, taking the empty chair on the other side of her table. Said table is littered with parchment, half written letters and unsealed ones addressed to her; he wonders who such letters are from and for. As if she can read his thoughts, she reaches out and shuffles the papers together, setting them aside. "He writes me still," she says softly and Jon knows she means Ramsay. His heart leaps into his throat and anger rushes through his entire being.

Now, even more than ever, does he vow to destroy Ramsay Bolton on the battlefield in the morning.

"He's not going to hurt you ever again, I swear it to you." He says in a voice that doesn't sound like his own. The words are an echo of the ones he said to her earlier that day, when she had told him that no one could protect her or anyone ever again. "I'm going to keep you safe from him." He promises in earnest, leaning forward, arm outstretched to gently touch her hand that sits upon the table top. Jon is reminded of when she had done a similar thing, when she had insisted they take up the fight against Ramsay to take back their home and their little brother. She looks up when his hand touches hers and he sees it, the flicker of a smile, and at once his heart is increasing its speed.

"You don't have to save me," she says softly, so softly he thinks for a moment she's not even spoken. True fear is written across her features then, a look he's not seen aside from a flicker of it earlier that day. But there in the dark of night, in the middle of the night, he can see the true fear that must consume her. It is that fear that keeps her awake this late into the night, the same fear that must have kept her awake all these nights since her escape from Winterfell. "We could runaway," she goes on, softer still, tears gathering upon her lashes. Something like a laugh and a sob tears from her throat as she turns away, drawing her hand away from his. She can't imagine what it will be like for her if she loses him too, the only family she has left. Rickon is as good as dead, she's resolved to live with that for the rest of her life. Arya and Bran were probably dead, too. And of course Robb and her parents were gone. Jon was all she had left. The idea of losing him frightened her a whole lot more than returning to Ramsay did, though she couldn't say when that fear had usurped the other.

Jon understands her, truly he does. Had he himself not wished to run away that very same day she had come to him at Castle Black? Had he not wished to run away to some place warm, some place where nobody would know his name? Where he could start all over again. But then she had shown up and forced his world to start spinning once again. She had turned up on his door step and given his life new meaning, _true_ meaning. Jon can't blame her for her fears- she's afraid of losing the battle, of going back to Ramsay. He can't blame her for having such little faith in him and the army he's mustered up, but when Jon Snow swore a vow, it meant something. And this was a vow more important than any other vow he knows he's ever made and probably will ever make.

And so he rises up, coming around the table where he sat to drop down on her other side, Ghost's tail curling around his feet from where he still lay at her feet. Jon reaches for her hands again, gently tugging them into his grasp, rubbing warmth back into them with his own. "Tomorrow... We'll go home. I promise you, we'll go home." There was no need to runaway, no need to hide. Tomorrow, he would take her home if it was the last thing he did.

For a long moment she stares down at him before she gives a single nod, a small smile curling on her lips. She could not help but to believe in him- with his solemn Stark colored eyes and his lips pursed in such a way, she somehow felt her faith growing. "Home..." She tests the word upon her lips and smiles again, a stronger smile than he's seen since their reunion. She liked the way the word sounded upon her lips and she liked the feeling of hope growing inside of her. She's not felt hope in years.

And so home they would go, no matter what it cost.


	39. Chapter 39 - Failing Geography

The last place on earth Sansa Stark wants to be is here in the geography room after hours.

But she's failed yet another test and at her teacher's insistance, she's to stay after class and do some extra credit. "I have to attend the staff meeting," the older woman says as she shoulders her messenger bag. "Do those two sheets and leave them on my desk. Then you may go," she stops at the door and turns back just before she steps out into the hall. "Another student should be here any moment, he's gotta do the same sheets." Before Sansa can ask who the other student is, her teacher is gone, letting the door slam closed behind her.

Heaving a sigh, Sansa pulls the first of the worksheets towards her, fully prepared to begin matching the names of capital cities and their nations. But then the door opens, tugging her attention away from the work. She's surprised to see Jon Snow there in the room, his dark eyes meeting hers from where he stands in the doorway. "Hi," Sansa finally finds her voice, wondering why her heart has begun to beat so very fast. Since when has seeing Jon caused her to feel such a way?

She supposes she can blame it on not speaking to him in nearly a year now; Jon was her older brother, Robb's, best friend. Ever since Robb had died in the car accident last year, Jon had drifted further and further away from them. Arya still missed him. Jon had been like another brother, like a part of their pack. His mother had died when he was young and he'd never known his father, which left him to be raised in a foster home. But when he and Robb had met some years ago, he slipped into their family as if he meant to be there.

When Robb had died the year before, seeing Jon became painful, and maybe seeing them became painful for him. A constant reminder of what they no longer had. "Hey, Sansa," Jon responds after a moment, shifting his bag from one shoulder to the other. It's been so long since he stood in the same room as her, alone, and he's forgotten what kind of magnetic pull she seemed to hold over him. Robb had always told him that he was the only guy he'd ever let near Sansa, but he wondered if he'd have felt the same if he'd known just how deeply he felt about her. "You're failing geography, too?" Jon can't stifle a chuckle when she makes a face and hangs her head, a groan escaping her rosy lips.

"I don't see why I need to know the name of every city in Westeros or even where it is on a map." She complains as he drops into the desk beside hers, reaching out to take the two papers she offers him a moment later. "That's what GPS is for." Jon wonders if she knows that she pouts when she complains.

Sitting so close to her, he can catch the scent of her floral perfume, the same one she wore the day he had hugged her at Robb's funeral. "I didn't think you could fail anything," Jon says after a few moments, the only sound at first the scratching of his pen as he wrote his name atop the first paper. "And with your dad being on the council, don't you travel a lot?" He remembered the many vacations he went along on over the years, though admittedly he couldn't tell you where any of those places really were.

Sansa laughs, a twinkling sound that fills him with warmth, a sound he's not heard in some time. "Father is ashamed of me failing, I think. He says there's no way any of us kids can fail geography, we've been so many places before. But, honestly..." She lowers her voice, glancing this way and that way, as if she's worried about who might overhear them talking. "I don't think I've paid any mind to how we get anywhere ever." She laughs again and Jon joins in, recalling when they had been kids in the back of her parents car; it was true, back then Sansa had passed the long trips with fairy tale books and naps. The last time they had gone somewhere, her phone had kept her attention rather than the direction they drove. "I'm only here because my mom forced me," she adds, rolling those sapphire colored eyes, brushing her long red hair across a shoulder. "I wanted to drop the class entirely but she says I have to pass it or else." Jon knew that threat well, recalling the hundreds of times him and Robb had been threatened just like that by Catelyn Stark. She was not a woman he would ever want to piss off.

They continue to talk as they set to work on their worksheets, passing back answers and information until finally, at long last, they finished. They both had come to the conclusion that they would probably fail this class in the end, but at least they would fail together. It was as Sansa shouldered her backpack that she turned to Jon with a faint smile. "This was nice." She admits, tilting her head as their eyes meet, her cheeks flushing with her admission. "If I'm going to fail a class, I guess I'm glad it's with you." Her eyes are brighter than ever and her smile widens as Jon grins back.

"Yeah... Let's do this again sometime," Jon replies, hoping he sounds smooth, though he isn't sure why he wants to come across in such a way to her.

"We do have the final in a few weeks," Sansa reminds him as they walk towards the door. "Let's do a study session. My house, say every Thursday?" Jon pauses and catches her gaze, realizing a moment too late that she's being serious. "You don't have to, of course," she goes on quickly, cheeks blooming with color as she turns away, clearly embarrassed by what she's said.

"No!" Jon cuts in with a shake of his head. "I mean, I would like that," he grins when she turns back to look at him. "Maybe we can both end up with a D." Her chuckle mingles with hers as they step into the hall, both heading the same way towards the stairs that will lead them down to the main floor.

It's as they step out into the afternoon sunshine that they part ways- Sansa off to Margaery's and he to return home. "I'll see you around," she says with a smile, to which Jon nods. When they both reach their respective corners, they're both surprised when they turn back for a final glance that the other is already looking back. Neither knows just how warm that makes the other feel.

Maybe failing geography was going to turn out to be a very good thing.


	40. Chapter 40 - the wind howls like wolves

The howl of the wind sounds like wolves.

She's haunted by it, each and every night, locked there in her room. In the darkness of the night, the still of the silence, she can hear them howling. They cry out to her from the other side, from a place she cannot yet reach, a place she's never been. Since the day Lady had died, she's heard her, she's felt her. And now, even now after all the time that's passed, she can hear them all.

It's Grey Wind, snapping his jaws, giving her the strength to stand against Ramsay Bolton. It's Nymeria, running wild and free, reminding her that her story isn't yet over. It's Summer, howling at the summer moon, offering her comfort in the light of the winter one. It's Shaggydog, barking as he runs loops around her, speaking to the innocence of life. When it's Lady, it's the soft feel of her fur, the only comfort she ever had in the long nights of torture, in the long days of war. And then it's Ghost too, but Ghost is more than a reminder of what she once had... He's a reminder of what she has left.

Jon comes to her mind, though he's hardly far from it these days. She thinks of his dark, solemn eyes, of his wild and unruly curls, of his vow of protection. Even now, those days seem so long ago, when hope was something foreign to her. Back then when she could trust no one but herself, Jon had proved there was still good left in the world. Back then, when she thought she had nothing left to live for her, Jon gave her a new reason to live. They had fought for their home, for their family, and they had won. Jon had given her hope and such a thing she could never repay him for.

In the darkness of her room, she turns to face him there in her bed, fast asleep, wondering if he knew just what he had done for her. She can't help but to reach for him, gently tracing her fingers along the outline of his lips and down his jaw. He sleeps soundly, unaware that she remains awake beside him, but she's happiest this way sometimes. At the side of their bed, Ghost sleeps just as soundly. Outside, she hears a storm as it begins to rage and her heart begins to flutter.

The howl of the wind sounds like wolves, even now.


	41. Chapter 41 - after the long night

_She's not the girl you grew up with. Not after what she's seen. Not after what they've done to her._

He knows, he knows, he knows.

He wants to rail at her, he wants to tell her the truth. But standing there in his fire lit chamber, drunk, Jon knows it won't help. It won't change anything except maybe cause more damage. Whoever said to fight fire with fire was wrong- this dragon queen could not be fought with fire. Looking into Daenerys' eyes, Jon knows the truth in her hardened heart long before she utters another word.

When she's gone, he sinks back onto his bed, face in hands. It's only a few short minutes later that he hears the soft knock to his chamber door- surprising him. Daenerys had long since stopped knocking, assuming her position as queen and his one time lover gave her the right to do so- so he assumes it's Sam or even Arya come to call. He rises up from where he sits and crosses the room, pulling the door open to face his new visitor. It's neither Sam nor Arya standing there. "Sansa." Her name is like a plea upon his lips, relief rushing through him at the sight of her sapphire eyes and gentle smile. Somehow, she knew he needed her, and so there she stood.

"Can I come in?" She asks with a tilt of her head, as if she's trying to look into his rooms, to assure herself he's alone. Jon nods and steps aside, allowing her to pass into the room as he closes the door, something telling him to click the lock into place before he turns back around to face her. She stands at the center of the room, the fire framing her from behind, the golden light bouncing off her red hair like a crown. For a moment, he wishes things were back to how they had been before he had ever left for Dragonstone, before he had ever brought Daenerys here. "I was worried about you, Tormund said you were pretty drunk," her voice tugs him from his thoughts and he looks up at her face, wondering if she knew just how beautiful she was. "I thought I might come to make sure you got into bed. You need to rest." She takes a single step closer to where he stands, her lovely scaled dress catching the light when she moves.

Jon doesn't speak but rather reaches out a hand to stroke her cheek- her skin is soft beneath his fingertips- down to her jaw, stopping only when he realizes he longs to trace the outline of her rosy lips. "Sansa..." He drops his hand, his drunken mind realizing perhaps that was not what she wanted him to do. But, to his surprise she's reaching for his hand, drawing it back to place against her cheek, those same lips curving in the softest of smiles.

They've been here before, of course, time after time. He's reminded of the night before he left for Dragonstone, where he had gone to her rooms and kissed her, a moment he's held onto all these weeks. He's reminded of all the nights she climbed into his bed here at Winterfell and back at Castle Black when she had relentless nightmares. Those long nights he would tuck her in close to himself, holding her as she cried softly into his pillow. "I'm selfish." She speaks suddenly, yet again bringing him free from his thoughts as her hand slides into place over his. "I didn't want to go back to my rooms alone... Everyone else..." She trails off, a crimson blush staining her cheeks as she looks down at her feet. "Everyone else seemed to have someone to go to bed with." On this night when they all had come out as survivors, it felt like everyone in the castle had someone to spend their night with. She had even seen Arya sneaking off with Gendry. Everyone had someone... Everyone but her. "I was afraid of being lonely, so I came here..." She admits softly, finally finding the courage to look back up at him, their eyes meeting. Where else was she to go, after all?

He leans in, he's so close he can almost capture her mouth with his. He's so close, he can feel the warmth of her breath when she slowly exhales, blue eyes staring deep into his own brown ones. "I'm glad you came." He says softly, his hand sliding further up into her hair as he kisses her, a long sweet kiss that steals the breath from her lungs and the strength from her knees. Jon can feel her when she clings to the front of his leather jerkin, can feel when she slips closer still, their bodies pressed together as if they had always been meant to be that way. "You never have to go." He speaks when he breaks the kiss a few moments later, his other hand slipping around to press against the small of her back.

As if these are the words she's always been waiting for, she's the one who leans in then, kissing him like she's never done before. It's a hungry kiss, yet vulnerable all the same. Jon holds fast to her, knowing there was no where he would ever want to go without her, knowing there was no where else he would ever rather be than right there, right then. The fight for morning light had come and they had won, why should they not find happiness for themselves?

It's a moment later that Jon is tugging her by the hand towards his bed, stopping her at the edge so he can turn her around, hands slowly unlacing the back of her scaled gown. She lets it slip from her shoulders before she turns back to face him, shy and blushing as she lets it drop to the floor. Standing there in just her chemise, Jon's breath catches, the outline of her body beneath the thin material a sight he's not prepared for. She's biting her lower lip then and Jon lets out the breath he's been holding when she reaches for him, pulling on the laces of his jerkin until it's loose enough for him to pull off. He pulls his own shirt over his head and it's only then that he guides her back onto the bed, climbing in over her as he leans in to kiss her again.

He runs his hands along the length of her body, stopping only at her hip which he grabs hold of beneath her chemise. That same hand then slips beneath the hem of her chemise, his hand against her bare skin as it runs up her body this time. Beneath his touch, she shudders, chills racing her spine as his tongue meets hers. Jon lifts himself up from her then, looking down into her blue eyes for a long moment before he reaches for the hem of her shift, his gaze a silently posed question. She nods. Slowly, giving her time to stop him if she wished, he pulls the chemise up and over her head, tossing it to the floor where her dress already lay.

For a long moment, Jon can do nothing but look at her, his eyes drinking in the sight of her body beneath him. He's twinged with sadness as his hand grazes a scar on her collarbone, inflicted by a blade of some kind and he knows it's from Ramsay. Now that he's this close, he can see she's littered with dozens of small, white scars, faded with time but a permanent reminder of all the abuse she's ever suffered. Beneath his gaze, she blushes, hugging her arms against her chest as if she's embarrassed by what she knows he can see. But, Jon gently pries her arms apart so he can lean down, brushing his lips against that first scar he'd seen, the one against her collarbone.

One by one, he kisses every single scar he can find; her collarbone, her abdomen, her left hip... He can feel her hands in his hair when he finds one on her inner right thigh, another scar left behind by a blade, more proof of the injustice done to her here in her own home. Watching him, Sansa wonders if he knows there are tears gathered upon his lashes. He raises up from her legs and can't help but to kiss her, hoping with all of his being that she knows he would have done anything to take away the pain she had suffered at the hands of another man. Scars did not belong on her. "You're beautiful," he whispers, because he needs her to know, he needs her to know that these scars did not change her, did not take away from the beauty she was.

Beneath him, she smiles.

Later, much later in fact, Jon wakes beside her. The fire has nearly gone out, casting the room into shadow and cold, but he's warm with her tucked up against him. Propping himself up onto an elbow, he peers down at her fast asleep against his pillow, red hair a fan beneath her head. Jon can't help but to smile at the sight of her. In all of his life, he never expected to find himself in bed with a woman he loved so ardently, and he wonders for a moment if this can even be real. But then he touches his neck, absently rubbing the bruise she gave him a few hours before and remembers it was more real than anything else ever had been. He chuckles, shaking his head as he gently brushes a stray lock of hair from her forehead, knowing that this was the future he's always been looking for.

And though he wants nothing else but to wake her from her slumber, he lays down beside her again, slipping his arms around her so he might pull her closer. All he wants is to stay right there with her forever.

Just the night before, he had been fighting for the morning light, now he wishes it would never come.


End file.
